


Together We Can Keep the Storm at Bay

by Northern_spies



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Frozen (Disney Movies) Fusion, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Asexual Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26887882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_spies/pseuds/Northern_spies
Summary: Prince Jonathan of Arendelle hides his powers from everyone outside the royal family, but when the usual night librarian is replaced by Martin Blackwood, he may have to make an exception.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Melanie King (background), Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker & Sasha James (background friendship)
Comments: 113
Kudos: 174
Collections: RaeLynn's Epic Rec List





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for giving this fun little fairytale AU a try! I’ve got a few chapters written and the rest roughly outlined. Heavily inspired by the Broadway production of Frozen; I recommend listening to the cast recording for some emotional parallels (Dangerous to Dream is an S4 Martin and Jon song, and Monster is great for S4/5 Jon). There are significant variations- while Jon is pretty easily Elsa in this scenario, no one else is a direct parallel. Everyone is also older from the start.
> 
> If you're not familiar with Frozen, a content warning: something resembling, depending on how you like to read to read the allegories in Frozen, abelism or queerphobia (the way Jon and Elias talk about Jon’s powers). As written here, it comes off more like the former. There will be more specific warnings in individual chapters.

Scholars were more likely to recognize a dead royal than a live one, and Jon used that to his advantage. He’d started sneaking down into the Arendelle Royal Library at night periodically from the time he was eleven and, after fifteen years of clandestine visits, he’d still never been recognized. It helped that the stacks were so sparsely populated after sundown that he could go weeks without encountering another soul. That was, aside from the night librarian, an elderly woman with poor vision. Enid, probably, or something with an “E,” he couldn’t quite be bothered to remember but it didn’t matter. She never questioned him, only squinted at him over thick glasses and shook her head. On the rare night the Head Librarian filled in instead, a Mr. Leitner, Jon never saw him at all.

It also didn’t hurt that he looked the part of the haggard student. Though he was only 26, his dark hair was already run through with streaks of white and he’d never slept well. Becoming heir apparent before you were able to speak in complete sentences would do that. Suppressing the effects of a curse made it worse. So Jon let himself look raggedy and what was one more disheveled mess hunched over a grimoire in the candlelight? It was as easy as putting on some ordinary clothes and slipping off his signet ring. Grandmother and Uncle Elias were none the wiser. 

However, the events of the last two nights were beginning to give Jon pause. Enid, or whoever she was, appeared to have finally retired and had been replaced by someone about Jon’s age. The new hire wandered the library humming to himself as he shelved books and occasionally glanced Jon’s way. If Jon wasn’t careful to project the right aura of busy, important but not too important, and just on the right side of politely rude he might have to have an actual conversation.

When the new librarian approached on the third night, Jon lifted his book and propped it in front of his face like a battlement. Evidentially, the librarian did not get the hint. He sat down in the chair opposite Jon and picked up one of the documents scattered around him. “Hmm. Those Northuldran maps are kinda outdated, but we’ve got a reference atlas if you want something more up to date. I could fetch it for you?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jon said from behind his book. He privately rolled his eyes. It wasn’t as though he’d be looking at an outdated map without a reason.

The librarian shifted one of the maps and looked at the stack of primary source statements underneath it. “Alright then. I’m Martin, by the way. I’m the new night librarian, so feel welcome to let me know if you need anything.” 

“I’d gathered,” Jon said, refusing to move his eyes off the pages in front of him. 

“You’re, um, really focused for a student. You’ve got so much material in front of you, you’d have to stay a week to get through all of it.”

“Well you’re awfully chatty for a librarian,” Jon grumbled back. “And I’ll take as long as I like.”

“Ok, ok,” said Martin with a nervous chuckle. "I'll just let you be." 

The opposite chair scraped against the floor as Martin moved to stand. Jon chanced a look up, to level his best glare and hopefully drive him off for good. 

Instead, Martin apparently took his well-practiced scowl as a sign of renewed engagement. “Well, there you are! Third day on the job, third day walking past this very table, and this is the first time I think I’ve gotten a good look at you. As I said before, it’s a pleasure to meet you, ah- I don’t think I got your name, actually?”

“That’s because I didn’t give it,” said Jon, narrowing his eyes. “But it’s Jon, and I’d like to be left alone. Please.” 

Martin smiled softly down at him from beneath a tumble of dark curls. “Hello then, Jon. I'll just be at the circulation desk, let me know if you ever need help locating anything in the library. Or if you’d just like a cup of tea.”

Jon rolled his eyes and pulled his gaze back down to the text. He heard a faint hum, then a series of footsteps as Martin shuffled away. Peace at last.

* * *

The fourth night was, somehow, even worse than the third. Martin had apparently decided that Jon looked so thoroughly the part of the exhausted student that he needed a cup of tea. He’d set it down at Jon’s elbow, all polite mutterings, and stayed by his side to once again take a look at Jon’s research. “Thermodynamics and the properties of water tonight, looks like?”

Jon sighed. “Yes. Exactly what it says on the paper.” 

“Diverse interests, always good to know. Oh, and tell me if there’s ever anything you’d like on loan from any of our sister institutions! I can always send a letter to Genovia or Corona to request anything we’re missing.” 

Jon ground his teeth together. Enid had never approached him, never brought him tea, and he’d been able to get through an extra dozen pages a night as a result. He looked up at Martin, round-cheeked and cheery eyed, and considered another rude comment but stopped himself before he could speak. He’d never thought about requesting books from other libraries. The information might be helpful someday.“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied. “Now, if you’d let me get back to this? You’re blocking my light.”

“Goodness, yes, sorry!” Martin backed away. 

Some time after Martin left, Jon absently lifted the mug and took a drink. Unfortunately, the tea was excellent, and he finished the full cup. When Martin next passed by, he made the mistake of catching his eye and got a bright smile in return. So much for chasing him off.

Jon fared no better a month on. Martin kept bringing tea and, sometimes, he’d add biscuits. Jon resolved not to give into the man’s awkward kindnesses any more except that pfeffernusse were his favorite, and they kept showing up. How did Martin know? 

After three months, Jon got a string of quiet nights when Martin was away. Visiting his mum he’d said, when he had told Jon he’d have to make his own tea for a week and left him with a tin of biscuits (gingerbread, this time, another good guess as they were Jon’s second favorite). Without Martin present Jon thought he would be more efficient, churning through texts without the distraction of someone asking questions about his research and offering related information he’d found along the way. Instead, his thoughts drifted, unmoored from his usual routine with a regular companion. He chalked it up to missing the usual fortifying cup of tea made just the way he preferred and barely even complained to himself when he had to fetch his own supplemental books that week.

And if, on the night of Martin’s return, he’d chanced being seen by more people to show up twenty minutes earlier than usual with a plate of shortbread and a mug of tea he had no intention of drinking himself, well, that served the practical interest of retaining a talented employee, right? He placed them on the circulation desk, labeled them with a note that simply read "for Martin," and waited for Martin to arrive from a nearby table.

Jon watched as Martin removed his coat and sat down at the desk. He looked a bit more careworn than normal, with a hazy expression and dark circles under his eyes. Jon fought the impulse to go to him right away. He wanted to demand to know what had happened, who had dimmed his light so considerably in just a week’s time. Instead, he forced himself to keep watching. It wouldn’t do to get any ideas about friendship. This was strictly an employee retention matter. He firmly reminded himself to keep appropriate distance just as Martin reached for a pen but stopped, hand hovering in midair. 

“Who would have?” he said, puzzled, as Jon looked on from the next table. Martin cocked his head at the note, then lifted a biscuit to inspect it, shrugged, and took a bite. “Hmm, that’s nice.”

Jon approached the desk. "I see you’re back.” He prided himself on his nonchalance. 

“Jon! Well, aren’t you early tonight?” Martin looked at the piece of shortbread in his hand and back to Jon. “That, um, that makes much more sense then the day crew leaving it, doesn’t it? Thank you.”

Jon’s face heated. “What makes sense?”

“The biscuits and tea? Shortbread, yeah? It’s really good, thank you.” 

“I, ah. Right. Well, it is good you’re back, no one else knows how to find anything.” Jon’s well-practiced cool tone threatened a wobble, but he kept it under control. Must be the strong cup of tea he’d had earlier. “You’ve made me lazy; I’m forgetting how the filing system works.”

Martin hummed. “Too bad I’ve got a life outside of being your personal study concierge, huh?” 

Personal study concierge. Maybe Elias would let him appoint M- someone to that job once Jon was king. Could be useful. “Yes, well. Er, welcome back.”

* * *

By month seven, it was an established routine. Tea, sometimes biscuits, always talk to Martin. Correct Martin, sometimes, when he scattered papers in his haste to show Jon something interesting he’d found or when he leaned too close and blocked the light. Listen to Martin too, out of politeness only, when he spoke about some cows he’d seen while walking or complained about another library patron. Lightly dissuade Martin from taking more time off to visit his mum, after all, didn't he want to be here when the new survey of tundra wildlife arrived? It wouldn’t do for Martin to get that worn out look to him again. And Jon never got his own tea quite right. Worry, just a bit, that Martin might piece all Jon’s research and his odd schedule together. Worry, a little more, that he might want Martin to piece things together.

Things were going well, only there had to come a night Jon’s tea was just a little too hot, to ruin the whole thing. Martin was close at hand, chattering on about Jon’s latest selected materials, wondering at the link between the geography, physics, and magic texts and joking about how Jon spent far too much time reading to ever use one of the travelogues set in front of them. Jon was giving as good as he got, reminding Martin that he wasn’t the one who had made a career of being a bookworm, when he picked up his mug. The first sip was scalding and, without thinking, he blew a little on the surface. 

It crystallized in an instant. Jon pulled it toward himself with a start, then slid his hand over the top to shield it from Martin's roving eyes.

Too late. “Careful there, I think I over filled that,” Martin said, moving even closer. “Did you splash yourself? I hope you’re not burned.” He reached to take the mug out of Jon’s hand, only to find it snatched away. 

“Won’t be necessary, no spill, all fine,” said Jon, holding the mug aloft. 

Martin scrubbed a hand across his eyes and chewed his lip. “I always forget, we’re not even supposed to have liquids out here, I’m so sorry! Not sure what came over me, offering you tea each time you’re down here, you’ve always just looked, I don’t know, tired? But we could have spilled all over your books, er, the library's books, well but you're the one who needs them so just as much your books,” he babbled. “I could lose my job over this, if we spilled it and ruined something.”

“You won’t,” said Jon. There were perks to being the crown prince, perks he rarely exercised but, well. If he had to use them to save Martin’s job, there was no question of it. He’d explain it was a one-off incident and that Martin was valuable to the crown, so long as he didn't have to articulate precisely why. _He knows which biscuits I like_ was hardly an excuse. 

“Suppose not, I guess no one was around to see it, and you’ve said it didn’t spill,” Martin conceded. “Now, let me add another splash of milk and it’ll cool right down.” He reached again for Jon’s cup.

Jon twisted away, turning the mug upside down in the process. Martin’s eyes went wide, rushing from mug to the papers about to be soaked through. 

There was no flood. Just Jon, uncomfortably aware he was suspending a mug full of frozen tea over a rare volume of statements about reversed curses. 

“J- Jon?” Martin said. Jon shuddered at the questioning edge to his voice. 

He looked up at Martin and found himself at a loss for words. “Uhhh.”

Martin’s brow furrowed as he reached out and tapped the surface of the tea with his index finger. Yes, freezing cold and stuck firmly in the mug, just as Jon expected. Martin carefully took the cup from Jon’s hand, righted it, and set it on the table. “Jon?”

Jon shook himself back to awareness with a start. “What? Oh, um. Right, so, odd, wasn’t that, strange updraft, tea’s not too hot anymore is it?” The squeak in his own voice threatened to swallow the words.

Martin shook his head. “There’s no draft. You have... ice powers?” he asked, slowly. It was barely a question. 

Jon tilted his head back. “I- yes, alright. But you aren’t meant to know. No one can know.” 

Martin nodded solemnly. “That explains so much of what you’ve been reading. Everything about water, climate, curses. You have it on my honor as a librarian, I won't tell anyone."

Jon snorted. Leave it to Martin to make it a matter of honor to conceal Jon’s monstrous nature. “No, not librarian’s honor, Martin, massive state secret, if anyone knew you knew they’d-” He bit his tongue, hard, to keep himself from continuing. 

For the first time, Martin hesitated. “They- they’d what, Jon?"

Jon squeezed his eyes shut as he considered. Among the living, only his grandmother, his uncle, and Tim knew his secret. Any expansion of that circle risked a leak. If anyone found out what he was, it could be used as blackmail, could put the entire kingdom in danger. He didn’t need Elias giving him the lecture again. The hours spent sitting stiffly opposite his uncle as he explained precisely how much danger Jon placed the entire kingdom in just by existing. If the neighboring kingdoms found out Arendelle was training up a horror for the throne the alliances might break down. There might be another war. Elias had made it clear the blood would be on Jon’s hands. 

On the other hand, reckless though it was and as much as he'd deny it if questioned, Jon needed a confidant. Things were happening, things outside his realm of control. More than just a frozen cup of tea, and with his grandmother's health declining he needed answers, solutions before the worst happened and Arendelle was saddled with a monstrous monarch. He had to bind his powers, have them removed, or transmuted into something mundane. At the very least, he needed to learn to thaw what he had frozen instead of waiting for the sun and time to take care of it. There had to be a solution and he was getting nowhere alone. 

He’d been alone since Tim had left for his apprenticeship when they were sixteen. Even then, he’d never joined him in the library. He’d never had help with his research until Martin.

Had he really been alone these last few months? Martin had been here, next to him all the time. He didn’t know, couldn’t have known what Jon was really doing. But he’d been consistent, he’d listened, he’d brought tea and he had, Jon hated to admit it, cared. Worse yet, the thought of lying to him, the only person since Tim who seemed to truly care, left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Martin's hand gently squeezed his shoulder. "Hey. You seem a bit lost there. Can I, uh, get you another cup? Would that help you talk?" His expression wasn't terrified, wasn't angry. Open, and curious, and far too damned doting. 

Jon decided to risk it.

“I, uh. You’d better have a seat.” John gestured at the chair across from him, slipped the signet ring out of his pocket and onto his hand. 

Martin slid into the seat. “So. I take it you’re not an ordinary student?”

Jon shrugged. “Not, ah, as such.” His voice wavered. He swallowed and directed a brief glance at his hands, now settled in front of him, ring gleaming silver against his skin. Martin had a commoner’s accent, was unlikely to attend any royal events at which he might recognize him. Jon could still back out of this, admit to the powers only and not the whole ordeal that came with them.

His eyes drifted up and settled on Martin’s face. The freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks, so bright when they’d first met, had faded from all the time indoors in the library. His eyes were a warm hazel, set under an uncertain, drawn brow as he looked back at Jon. The overall effect was somehow calming, and the heavy knot in his chest loosened a little. Martin had been here, had put up with Jon’s prickly exasperation and humored him nonetheless. He took a deep breath and began to explain.

“I’m not a scholar, I’m not writing anything. This is rather more personal research, I’m afraid.” Martin nodded, so he continued. “And it’s important that I be able to do it here, at night, discreetly. Because my uncle, he’s in charge of my education and he’d never understand. He says it’s too dangerous to do anything with it and I just need someone- somewhere I can be, while I read and learn and try to figure out how to make it stop.” He shivered involuntarily, a tingle radiating from his shoulder blades through his finger tips. Somehow, he was sure that Elias knew when he’d been complaining about him. “He mostly wants me to ignore it, except when he's observing.” Conceal, don’t feel, his brain supplied in a perfect mimicry of Elias’s clipped tone.

Martin’s worried brow softened with an understanding nod. “Of course you’re still welcome, I didn’t mean to make you think otherwise. Everyone’s welcome at the library. And it would be lonely here, without you in at night.” Jon caught him flush briefly as they both looked away. After a moment, Martin chuckled a little, then drummed his fingers against the table. “Right, so your- your powers, are they something you’ve discovered? Or were you born with them?”

Jon closed his eyes against Martin’s thoughtful gaze. “They’re a curse. I was born a monster, which is why it’s so hard to control. I’ve never known anything else.”

“Oh, Jon." His voice was softer than Jon had ever heard, even on the night he cooed at an invading mouse he'd trapped. Jon opened his eyes to find Martin holding the frozen mug, appraising the pattern of frost running along the sides. “I can see why you’re doing all this research now, it’s beautiful, what you’ve done here. Nothing monstrous about it, if you just look at it? But that kind of power, and they won’t let you learn more about it and what to do with it? That has to be frightening.” 

Jon’s face suddenly felt warm. Yes, this was the person Jon was going to have to trust. “Power, yes, it’s. Ah. That part is one of the worst because, well.” His eyes darted around the room, making sure they were well and truly alone. All quiet. He learned toward Martin and said at a whisper. “I’m also the crown prince.”

Martin laughed. “Okay, Jon. The magic ice powers are impressive enough without having to resort to a joke. See how gullible Martin is now that I've told him my secret, yeah?" 

“You believe I have powers but not that I’m the prince?”

“I mean, you certainly haven’t got the manners of a prince.” Martin swept a hand through the air, gesturing from Jon’s head to his feet. "You're a bit rude, your table manners hold up at first but by the end of the night you're cursing and spilling tea. And you dress like a student. A particularly eccentric, sleep-deprived student.”

Jon wasn’t sure what possessed him but he found himself reaching out toward Martin, laying his ringed right hand over Martin’s upturned palm. “See for yourself, that’s my royal signet ring.”

Gently, Martin lifted Jon’s hand and tilted it slightly in his own to examine the crest. “That's- that's the royal seal,” he said. Then, “oh! Jon, Jonathan. Of course it’s you. Um. Your royal highness, sorry? Oh no, I’ve brought you tea in a chipped mug.” His eyes went wide in horror as he dropped Jon’s hand and backed away. “Do I need to bow, or do you want me to leave you alone, or?” 

Jon couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him any more than he could help feeling the loss of the warmth from Martin’s hand. “No, you’re fine Martin, just sit back down. Please.”

“Y-yes. Um. Sir?”

“None of that either, please, just treat me normally? The same as before. That’s why I decided to tell you, after you saw what I did. I thought, here’s someone who’s kind even to a messy student, surely he can also be a bit of a bastard to a prince who’s asking him to be one, right?”

Martin gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t follow.”

“Right, I’m getting ahead of myself again. I do want to ask you a favor but not as a royal to staff, I. Well, I rather think we’ve become friends, haven’t we, over all these months? You treat people how you think they should be treated, not based on what they look like. Even the scruffiest student gets a cup of tea,” he said, pointing to himself. “And you really do make a good cup of tea, Martin.”

Martin snorted. “Sure, Prince Jonathan, who probably has a royal tea sommelier, thinks that I, Martin Blackwood, make a good cup of tea. Don’t patronize me.”

Jon knew he was grinning but didn’t care at all. “That’s it, exactly that. Mock me, tease me, challenge me. Please. I just need someone who knows. Someone I can talk to, while I sit down here night after night trying to find a way to break the curse before I have to take the throne.” He held out a hand to Martin. “A... friend?”

"Well, when you put it like that, what can I say?" Martin smiled, just a little, and Jon knew he’d agreed. “Friends.” 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin suggests Jon try getting some practical experience with his powers.

It had been worth every bit of little bit of hassle (and a small lie on his CV) to get where Martin was today. The night librarian job was everything he’d ever wanted: a cozy, if small, room near the castle to call his own, all the books he could read, plenty of downtime to wander the city, or practice his poetry. Money to send home to the people caring for his mother. Not having to live with his mother and her constant insults. And night shifts, alone with Jon.

It wasn’t even the prince part that made Martin swoon, no, that would have been far less embarrassing. It was everything else about the man. Martin hadn’t even realized he was the prince at first, had thought he was just another student coming to delve into the archives to locate material for a thesis. He’d been drawn in by his acerbic commentary on any number of writers in the Arendellian canon and the adorable way his nose wrinkled when he came across something particularly grotesque in a text on curse breaking. Part of it was the way he looked, that elegant black hair shot through with wide, white streaks and his bright, curious eyes. But it was mostly just how Jon _was_ , the way he snipped and condescended but wiggled excitedly every time Martin brought him a cup of tea. The way he'd carefully convince Martin not to take time off to visit his mother when he came back sleep-deprived and Jon looked almost worried. The excitement when he came across information irrelevant to his own quest but worth excitedly sharing with Martin anyway.

Martin had not forgotten the first time he’d seen Jon. He had been reshelving a set of bestiaries another patron had left in the fiction section and there he was, hunched over a corner table, a stack of books and looseleaf archive files piled high around him. Martin had been drawn right in. That familiar pull to fuss over someone obviously doing a poor job with self-care, sure. But coupled here with an appreciation for how this particular man was pulling off the look, all disheveled cardigan and glasses dangling at the edge of his nose. It had taken only a few days to work up the courage to bring him a cup of tea and now, half a year later, he had been getting quite close to working up the courage to tell Jon he was feeling, well, rather a lot of something for him when he’d found out he couldn’t possibly act on those feelings.

Jon was the prince, with an impossible secret, and Martin his only confidant. When Martin had contemplated asking Jon if they were friends, he was hoping it might lead to a cup of tea outside library walls, a walk down the shoreline, or maybe a shared dinner out in the town. Not anything like the conversation they’d actually had.

But it was fine! Martin could manage. Would manage, even, would scour the library for anything helpful. He'd keep cups of tea and a sympathetic ear ready for the lending ready at a moment's notice. It would have to be enough because the mortifying daydreams he’d been indulging in before he knew Jon’s secrets were strictly off-limits now. 

Martin still hurried to finish his shelving and waited eagerly for the rest of the patrons to leave so it would be only him and Jon and they could talk. Their recent conversations had turned to the question of how to ensure Jon could lead the entire country without his powers becoming an issue. They bent together over texts, each pointing out connections the other hadn’t made. Chasing the thrill of the mystery, relishing in all the knowledge they could gain. Making one another laugh.

Not that Jon had gone soft since Martin had learned his secrets. He was as caustic as ever if caught at the wrong moment. But he was also a bit, well, sweet? Every Monday, he brought Martin tea and shortbread, and while he didn’t exactly say he’d missed him when they were apart for the weekend, there was an implication, maybe? 

Martin could tell Fridays were difficult for both of them. The library closed too early on Saturdays for Jon to be comfortable visiting and remained dark for Sundays. Jon was clearly loath to give up any time he could have been working on learning to control his powers and as much as Martin relished his days off he did miss Jon. 

Until one Friday, nearing midnight and in the middle of fetching Jon yet another cup of tea, Martin had an idea. Jon had already had so much caffeine, and he could take this chamomile or make his own cup. It occurred to Martin that Jon’s disinterest in change extended into his research as well and there was no time like the present to present his bold idea: Jon should try using his powers. 

Jon looked up as Martin approached and gave him a rare smile. "Mmm, just in time, I was beginning to worry."

Martin laughed. “If you think this is worrisome, just wait because I’m about to ask you something that might be, ah. A bit unfair of me?”

Jon shrugged one shoulder, too busy giving his cup of chamomile a disdainful look for failing to be a proper, strong cup of ordinary black tea. 

Martin cleared his throat. “Erm, well. Do you ever think all this reading might not actually be helping anything?” he asked. Jon was currently stuck on the idea that his powers might be related to astrology, and they had been pouring over star charts. Well, Jon had been pouring over them and Martin had been trying to be helpful, really, while sneaking the odd glance at the compatibility sections of the zodiac books and making mental notes about his own natal chart alongside Jon’s. A foolish indulgence, he knew, but even though he had firmly shut down most of his daydreams sometimes his heart got its own ideas mid-shift.

“I don’t see any other way of solving it,” Jon said. “And so far, this is the only question I’ve not been able to answer from a book.”

Martin scoffed. “I might be a librarian but even I know there are lots of questions that can’t be answered by a book.”

Jon set the chart he was holding down and arched a brow in Martin’s direction. “Fine, the night is half-over anyway, let’s have a break. Name one thing you can’t learn from a book.”

Martin chewed his lip a moment before settling on something truly nebulous that would appeal to Jon’s sense of drama. “What is the meaning of life?”

“Too easy, there are plenty of answers in books to that one.” He held out his hand and ticked reasons off a list. “Answers include ‘to create more life,’ ‘to serve a god or gods,’ ‘to find one’s own purpose,’ and ‘there is no meaning.’ Do try a little harder, Martin.”

“I didn’t mean like that, there’s no definitive answer!”

Jon waved his hand. “Irrelevant, that’s not something provable anyway. You can find an answer, though it’s up to you to decide which one fits best. Try something a bit more concrete.”

Martin tapped his fingers against the table. “Hmm. Alright, how many trees in the whole of Arendelle?”

Jon laughed. “Even easier. About eleven billion.” 

“You can’t possibly know that!”

“Logging is a major industry here. I’ve read my mother’s diaries and correspondence; she was always worried there weren’t enough trees to replace what we use. Reforestation in the southern part of the country was going to be one of the major tenets of my parents’ rule. Had they gotten one.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Martin. “I’m sorry, is it ok? To talk about them?”

Jon nodded. "Yes, it’s been a long time now. Easier than talking about Elias.”

Martin felt his jaw clench. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I was getting at.”

“Elias?”

“Elias’s rules. No books and you’ve remedied that but still haven’t found any answers. No using your powers. But what does he know? He can’t be an expert in curses?”

“No, but he’s an expert in royal protocol and kingdom safety. Allegedly. Mostly, he makes me read old historical accounts of life here and wear gloves whenever I’m around him. When he does let me practice, he stands in a storage shed fitted with a glass observation window and uses a series of hand signals to tell me what he’d like me to do. I think my powers scare him a little, actually.”

“Right, he’s terrible and wrong about most things. You’ve learned more from books than him but-” Martin paused, watched Jon tilt his head with curiosity. “But if we’ve tried all the books, why not try actually using your magic? See if you can learn to control your powers?”

“That’s not something I can do.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s dangerous. My powers, I can’t, I can’t _control_ them. I’m a terror, I’m a monster, I could seriously hurt you- anyone, I could hurt anyone who got too close.” He was shaking now, and Martin longed to throw his arms around him. Smooth out the fear plainly battering his poor heart and remind him he could learn, change, grow like anyone else. That he wasn’t a monster.

He made do with words instead. “How do you know you can’t control them if you’ve never tried?”

“My uncle says-”

“So?”

“He says they can’t be controlled, they can’t be seen, I’d be putting everyone in danger. I'm only meant to use them when he says to. Otherwise, I’d be putting the whole of Arendelle in peril.”

Martin knew how easily he could be swayed on small matters out of a sense of generosity. When Jon needled him to keep the library open just a bit later, he’d cave in a moment. If a patron wanted to borrow over the five-book limit, all it took was a shy smile. He’d been known to toss apples he had only had a single bite from to any shaggy cow who had the fortune of meeting his eyes, without regard for his own hunger. Generosity and courage were not, however, antonyms, and Martin Blackwood possessed an unusual quantity of both. He took a moment to search for the right words, then tried again. “I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think you could do it? You’ve got plenty of self-control. I’ve seen you spend hours pouring through a dictionary when you think it could help.”

Jon’s chair toppled backward as he rose and Martin rose to catch it. “Martin, I’m warning you. Drop this.” 

As Jon paced away, Martin set the chair square with the desk. He gripped the aged wood, took a steadying breath, and looked to Jon. “Arendelle’s in danger as it is, with you walking around with powers you don’t know how to use. I don’t have the education you have and I’m not of royal blood, but I’ve read my share of historical epics. Fairy tales too."

Jon winced. “Fairytales.” 

Wrong thing. Martin didn’t want to hurt Jon, wouldn’t ever want that. He pressed a palm to his aching head and considered a gentler angle. “Oh, I’m bungling this. I didn’t mean it, like, I don’t know? It’s just, you’ve read fables, right? Powers like yours, they aren’t common now, but maybe in the past they were and that’s how come we’ve got so many stories. You’ve read all the academic texts we can find and even some of the, ah, less academic books,” he gestured to the astrology guides and Jon gave a half shrug in agreement. “So I think we should consider what we know from fairy tales.”

Jon gave Martin a hard look. “What we’ve learned from fairy tales is that I’m a monster and ought to be locked in a tower until an errant knight with a heart of gold feels fit to come and slaughter me for the good of the realm.” 

“N-not always!” Martin’s hand shot out to grip Jon’s wrist and stop his pacing. “Please, just, hear me out. Only a moment longer, and I’ll leave you to think about it.”

“Hmph. If that’s what it takes, fine, I’m waiting.” 

“Right.” Martin was conscious of his fingers still clutching Jon’s sleeve and how his pulse quickened at the smallest contact. He released it and clasped his own hands together, the better to keep him from reaching out again. “Well, it’s just that sometimes the person with the magic isn’t someone who gets locked up or killed. Sometimes, um, they’re the one who has to save everyone?” Jon gave him the tiniest nod, and Martin felt himself smile at the permission to press on. “Cinderella, it’s the fairy godmother, isn’t it, who gives her a chance? And- and there’s the one where the boy can talk to birds, so he saves the sailors? What if you’re meant to do something like that, to use your powers to _help_ Arendelle?”

“Those are just stories. And absurd, no one has ever had the power to turn a pumpkin into a carriage.”

“There are records though, of people who could talk to animals.”

“Sure,” said Jon flatly. “I’m sure those gifted souls were terrified they’d accidentally bring a plague of bunny rabbits down upon the people, blotting out the sun and destroying life as we know it.” He crossed his arms. “My powers are different. They’re objectively dangerous.”

Evidently, Jon couldn’t look past everything Elias had told him for years. Martin felt anger curling at the edge of his voice. “No, they’re not objectively anything, not when you don’t have any data to work with!” 

Jon dropped back into his chair. “I- uh.”

Martin’s racing heart carried him forward until he was seated across from Jon again. “No data, no attempts to actually try any of the hypothetical knowledge out. You’ve spent years compiling information, unwilling to try anything until you’re certain, but you know what?” He leaned forward, closer to Jon, and shivered a little at his own boldness. “There is something you can be sure of, and that’s that you aren’t evil. Rude, sometimes, and more than a little stubborn if you think you’re on to something. Not an ordinary man, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be trusted with your own abilities and your own body?” 

Jon stared blankly at him, jaw slack and head tilted. Had Martin broken him?

Martin ducked his head and focused his eyes on the astrology books again. “Oops, I- I’m sorry. Might have, uh. Overdone that a bit.” He picked up a book they’d finished with and rose to return it to the shelves. “Why don’t we, uh, just get back to the research and forget about all my, um, nonsense ramblings?” 

Jon stood and stared silently at Martin for a moment, before throwing back his shoulders and picking up a stack of books. “Hmm, no. I don’t think we should. Not when we’ve got to find a place to try out your suggestion. He began to stride away, reshelving as he traveled. “We can’t do it in the castle, not even here. Things tend to get a bit messy.”

Martin raced out in front of him, placed a hand atop the stack of books to stop him. “W-wait. Right now?”

Jon nodded. “Why not? You were right. About- about the data. Just the data.” He flushed a little as he darted to the far side of the shelf. “Now I want to know what will happen and waiting will stop me from losing my courage.” He gave Martin a lopsided smile. “Not all of us possess so much as you, I’m afraid.”

Martin’s skin went hot at the compliment as he bowed his head. “Oh, I’m not-”

“You are,” said Jon, with a note of finality. “Not everyone would stand up to a prince. I don’t have many friends, Martin. And while I don’t say it often, I suppose I ought to at the moment... I’m grateful to know you.”

“I, er. Maybe save the thanks until we see if the idea wasn’t worth it after all?”

“If that suits you, fine, we can wait.” He placed another book and took off for a further shelf at an eager pace. “I might need another pep talk though. Now, where should we practice?” 

Martin jogged alongside. Despite his much longer legs, it was nearly impossible to keep up with Jon if he were excited or well-caffeinated and tonight, he was both. At least he was making Martin’s job easier as he went. “Well, I may know a place, there’s this hill? If you go out past the cattle pasture, no one’s ever out there. The trees keep it a bit secluded but it’s high ground so you can see anyone coming?”

“That will do.” Jon settled the last book on the shelf and checked his watch. “Library closes in ten minutes anyway, let’s go.” 

Martin’s shoulders tightened. This was so risky, he hadn’t meant to set it all in motion with an offhanded suggestion. But true to form, Jon was diving in headfirst like Martin had brought him a new book. “Ok?”

* * *

They reached the base of the hill, quiet but for the odd moo from the cattle scattered across the field. The climb was brief but left Jon clutching a stitch in his side and Martin privately worrying if he had the stamina for practical use of his powers so late at night.

“So, um. How do you get it started, do you need some water or?” asked Martin, patting down his pockets for the flask he’d brought along.

“No, there’s enough ambient vapor I can just sort of, you know,” said Jon, wiggling his fingers in Martin’s direction. “Oh! Probably shouldn’t point those at you.” 

“Yeah, it might be best to, ah, aim for the trees?”

“Right, right,” Jon muttered. Martin realized he was pacing a narrow loop, shaking out his hands, and scanning the horizon as he went. 

He hated to see Jon so worked up. It was like when he hit a dead-end in the research, first the nerves, then the hopelessness Martin could just begin to touch with biscuits and a listening ear. Throwing his own trepidation aside, Martin stepped into his path and laid a steadying hand across his forearm. “Jon? You can start small, you know. Just frost the grass, or something? And we can leave whenever you want.”

Jon gave a shaky laugh and gripped Martin’s other arm for support. His nerves buzzed pleasantly where Jon’s hand laid. “Yes, I suppose I’m a bit in my head about it all. It’s just been so long since I last tried anything intentional, aside from what Elias has me practice, all the defense and combat nonsense. I remember, just the one time, making snow angels with my parents. But it was so long ago and it might have been natural snow.” Jon sighed. “You know, I did have a friend as a child. Tim, he’s away for healer training now. Following in his mother’s footsteps. She was an official court physician and one of the few people who knew about my powers since they'd tried to remove them when I was born. Tim ended up finding out too, and sometimes he'd get to stay overnight while she worked. A few times he snuck into my room and we'd build a snowman, have a snowball fight.” Jon smiled at the memory, warmth seeping from his memory into Martin in the cool night air. “But it's been a very long time," he finished.

“We could do some of those things, you know,” Martin suggested. "Have a bit of fun." 

“I’d- I’d quite like that,” said Jon. He gave Martin’s arm a final squeeze before stepping away and closing his eyes. “Now, I don’t quite remember how to, ah do much. Elias usually just has me build walls and spikes, test out whether I can frost test patches of crops at a distance, that sort of thing. But here goes nothing, I suppose.” He drew his shoulders back, opened his eyes, and turned his face toward the sky.

Martin jumped back at the bitter chill in the air. All around him, the soft hilltop grass was fading, going silver with frost. Jon gestured skyward, and snow began to fall, blanketing them in a delicate swirl. Jon’s cheeks took on a flush as he whooped with glee. “Apparently I can still do that!” He motioned as though he were scattering something across the ground and a snowdrift spread out around them. “Try not to slip!” 

Jon looked a decade younger like this, enjoying himself in the open air, running circles around Martin as he threw snow like confetti and hung icicles from the trees. Martin’s stomach fluttered with each giggle. He wanted to give him this much joy every night, at any chance, he could find. He imagined a little cabin on a hillside like this, filled with books, a warm bed, and no obligations to control or conceal. Looking down at Arendelle, he knew they could never have that, even if it were something Jon wanted as well. Jon would have to marry a royal and govern the country. Probably it meant concealing his power too, but at least like this, he’d get a chance to understand how it worked. How to avoid disaster. 

Martin’s melancholy couldn’t possibly last when up against the force of Jon’s bliss. Soon he was being tugged roughly to the ground and made to stretch out in the snow at Jon’s side, leaving twin impressions of angels. They gazed up at the stars, breath coming in little white puffs, and Martin thanked the universe he’d taken the chance to suggest this.

Lying on the cold ground, Martin began to shiver. Jon, unbothered by the cold, only realized when he heard Martin’s teeth chattering and then insisted they head back. “I won’t have you catching something because of me, that’s completely unreasonable!”

“But we didn’t even get to think about control or, you know, practical uses?”

“There’s always next week. I think I just needed to blow off some steam. Or ice, I suppose.” Martin groaned at the joke and Jon broke into a smile brighter than the moonlight. “I feel better, I think I might even be able to sleep tonight,” Jon said as they made their way carefully down the hill.

As they reached the castle Jon hesitated, then reached out and took Martin’s hand in both of his. “Martin, I- I can’t thank you enough. This was exactly what I needed. I feel like a child again. Hopeful, even, maybe? I know we came out here so I could learn to control what I am-”

“Who you are,” Martin gently corrected.

“Or that,” Jon said with a careful smile. “And I’d have never risked it if it weren’t for you. Is there anything you’d like, anything at all?”

“Can’t think of anything,” Martin said, even as his traitor of a heart supplied its own answer. _You_ , Jon, just you. 

“Think about it?” 

Jon’s tone was soft in the darkness, and it took everything in Martin’s willpower not to step closer. “Hmm, well. A snowball fight tomorrow, maybe?” 

Jon’s grip tightened for a moment before releasing Martin’s hand. “You’re going to regret asking for that.”

Martin laughed. “Probably, but it’ll be worth it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter was originally 6k words but I realized I wanted another Jon POV scene in between so I've broken it up. I've got seven chapters written, just not the very next bit, so expect more in a week or two.
> 
> Also, a fun fact I just Googled out of curiosity- Arendelle canonically has marriage equality. Disney is still an awful mega-corporation and should be broken up into parts that should be owned by the workers. And they should still give Elsa a girlfriend in Frozen 3. But we can still be mildly pleased.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his night out with Martin, Jon has a new perspective on their relationship. Elias has other uses for Jon's power in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for bearing with me! The next four chapters are written and being edited. The chapter count also increased and tags are updated to include characters who will show up later.
> 
> This one just gave me some extra trouble as I hadn’t initially planned it, then realized I wanted to show some Jon and Elias interaction. Martin shows up too, and Jon is trying very hard to be logical despite his feelings. It's still not my favorite chapter (that'll be chapter 5) but it'll do as update for the moment.
> 
> On a related note: Arendelle has canon marriage equality, see https://twitter.com/thevivsion/status/1180143874267856896 . For this and other reasons, we’re going to operate this story with full queer acceptance. The conflict comes from other places.
> 
> I also did a bit of research on fish migration but couldn't really nail down if Elias’s plan here is plausible so just suspend your disbelief, please, if you happen to be an expert on North Atlantic fishing rights.

It was a novelty, this rush of feeling. Not the sort of thing Jon ordinarily allowed himself. He’d only felt like this once before, when he’d first met Georgie, that lightness at his very core threatening to engulf him and turning his thoughts away from anything practical. His mind was a whirling blizzard, each flake an elated moment of letting his powers free, of feeling truly himself. And always beside him, Martin.

Martin was just as terrifying and thrilling as using his powers. Not quite as mysterious, Jon was sure Martin liked him, though he wasn’t entirely sure if those feelings went beyond friendship. Perhaps Martin was this aggressively caring toward everyone? Surely his emotions couldn’t match Jon’s which, never one to do things by halves, had slowly ramped up into friendship and then shifted rapidly from there to infatuation. 

He turned the complications over in his mind as he made his way to his Monday morning meeting with Elias. There were things to consider before even entertaining the idea of asking Martin if his feelings were requited. His prior engagement and the reasons for canceling it. The continued long-distance friendship with his ex-fiancée, which he would not be giving up. Her new engagement, to his cousin, Melanie and current heir. Jon’s own complicated relationship with Melanie. His indifference to the idea of sex. His grandmother’s opinion on Jon marrying (as quickly as possible, and ideally to someone of strategic value, but as his twenties reached an end, getting more flexible on the second part with every conversation). Elias’ preference that he not get married, the better to avoid having to let another person in on his secret. Martin conveniently solving that problem by having figured Jon out himself. 

He was still puzzling over the last bit when he reached the meeting room door. Elias was already waiting. “My, don’t you look different today. What’s happened?”

“Just, ah. Got a good night’s rest.”

“Hmm.” Elias frowned. “Well, good for you.” He gestured Jon to take a seat at the table. “Did you read the briefing I sent?”

“Yes, of course. Guilderian naval movements, to the south.”

“Well…”

Jon thought a moment. “It’s. Ah.” He paused, recalling the memo he’d read over breakfast that morning. “Good?”

Elias arched an eyebrow. “Good? How?”

“They’re moving away from any Arendellian assets. And they’re our allies, so they’re free to do as they like. If they want to go south, what’s it matter?”

Elias leveled a withering glare at Jon. “When our allies choose to engage in conflict, we must either support them, break our alliance, or renegotiate.”

“They’ve moved their fleet entirely within their own territory,” Jon responded. “There’s no conflict involved.”

“Ah, but the risk has certainly increased, hasn’t it? Territorial waters, fishing rights in dispute. It’s _chess,_ Jon. Try to think ahead.”

Jon knew he was no great strategic mind, not when it came to the big things. He privately thought himself rather more suited for homeland affairs. Or abdication, but there’s no way Elias would allow that. Not for the first time he was jealous of the more robust popular governance in some of their allied states. He responded slowly. “Yes, right then. Fishing rights, Guilder and the Southern Isles. Do you think it’ll come to war over, what, the herring migration?”

“Not this year, perhaps, but the Southern Isles continue to fish further and further north each year. Their encroachment on Guilderian territory is a threat to us all, isn’t it? We may have to think of a way to make the waters less attractive.”

Jon puzzled over the conclusion he was expected to reach. “Guilder could make moves to fish more and earlier this year, deplete the stocks a bit, decrease the yields for the Southern Islanders in the border areas.” He stopped to consider the impact over the years. “But that would deplete stocks for everyone, including us when the fish migrate here during the warmer months.” 

Elias raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Catching on. Keep going.” 

“Is there something we could put up, a barrier to stop the Southern Islander boats from making incursions into Guilder’s territorial waters?”

Elias shook his head. “Wrong direction again. And you were doing so well. Consider not what’s best for Guilder, but what’s best for Arendelle.”

“They’re our allies, isn’t it the same thing?”

He shrugged. “Not precisely.” Elias leaned closer to Jon, and he struggled not to flinch away. “Arendelle has assets Guilder does not.” There were the eyebrows again, the gesture of _come on Jon, stop being thick_ he’d had to endure all his life. 

“Oh. Surely you don’t mean… me?”

Elias looked unimpressed. “A monarch’s duty is to do the best by their nation, even sometimes at the expense of others.”

Jon pictured himself at sea, leaning out over the ship and pushing magic into the waves. “You want me to- to, what, freeze the waters?”

“Not entirely, no. Just a little chill to the south, in early spring. Confuse them a bit, drive them further north. And again in the fall, to hurry them out of the disputed region into their overwintering waters further south.”

“But Guilder and the Southern Isles both rely on the migration for most of their herring catch. They’re a culturally important food in our entire region, it wouldn’t be right to deprive them just because they’ve got a border dispute.”

Elias laughed. “We’re not going to deprive them. If more fish make it through migration to Arendelle, that means we can catch more while sustaining the population. That’s a better yield, more jobs in the canneries. Guilder and the Southern Isles will have all the herring they need.”

“We’re going to sell them fish they’d ordinarily be able to catch themselves, if we weren’t interfering?” 

“A wealthy Arendelle is a powerful Arendelle.”

“It still doesn’t seem fair.”

“Neither does Arendelle having an cursed crown prince. But we can build our reserves up to ensure that, should your secret be exposed, the country is in a strong place.”

Jon sighed. “Right… I suppose… right.” 

* * *

“Out with it.” Jon hadn’t made it ten minute into his next meeting with Martin before the man was insisting he tell him what was wrong.

“With what?” Jon replied. He jammed a bookmark into “Oceanic Nations of Northern Europa” and dug through the stack of atlases on his right.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Whatever it is that’s got you so, you know. Twitchy.”

“I’m not twitchy,” said Jon. There was no need to drag Martin into his latest ethical dilemma. As much as he might appreciate his thoughts. He withdrew his favorite atlas from the stack and flipped to the page he needed. “I’m researching.”

“Geopolitics,” Martin said. “Nothing curse related, nothing personal interest related. So, there must be something.”

“You’re nosy,” Jon responded. 

“Last week, you called me perceptive,” Martin countered. 

“Last week, I was too blinded by the joy of you shaking me out of my complacency to have any awareness of your flaws,” said Jon, without any trace of actual animosity. Privately, he thought Martin was indeed both nosy and perceptive, and it made him like him all the more. “This week, you’re nosy.” He continued scanning the atlas, not trusting himself to make eye contact. He was increasingly finding himself unable to deny Martin anything should their eyes meet. 

Martin hummed. “Okay, I’ll stop pushing. I’ve got to catalog the new periodicals anyway.” He closed the open book in front of him and moved to stand. 

Jon’s hand shot out automatically, griping his wrist. Apparently he didn’t need to look at Martin, so long as the threat of his retreat were there to motivate him. “Wait.”

Martin smiled down at him from his half-risen position. “I don’t know Jon, I’ve got a lot of other work to get to…”

Jon sighed. “We both know you already took care of most of it before I even got here. Stay.” He felt his cheeks warm. “Please.” 

Martin’s face softened. “Oh, alright then. And Jon? You don’t have to tell me everything. You’re right, I was being a bit nosy, you just seemed on edge and, well. I want you to know I’m here, even if we don’t talk about what’s bothering you. We can still talk about what you’re feeling about it?”

That Martin would give him an out was exactly why he was the only person Jon could see himself talking to right now. “That’s kind. But I think it might be right, actually, to get your opinion. Even if it can’t change anything.” Martin settled down across from him again as Jon tapped his pen against the atlas. “Elias wants to, ah. Deploy me. As a military asset.” 

Martin startled back, shuddering against the chair. “What?! How would that even work, you could be hurt, or killed, or-”

Jon held up a hand. “It’s low risk. We’d be going out with a small crew, only Elias’ most trusted captain. It would be us, Peter Lukas, and his select crew. I’ve been asked to ice to a few key places and make a hasty retreat. We aren’t meant to do it for a few months yet.”

“Key places. In Arendelle?” Martin asked, eying Jon’s research materials skeptically.

“Er. Not precisely. No.” 

“So your uncle wants to take you on a boat into another country’s sovereign waters, use your powers, and then flee.” 

The plan sounded so _w_ _rong_ in Martin’s voice. Jon slumped back in his chair. “That’s about right.”

“Absolutely not,” said Martin with a shake of his head. “You could be pursued, captured. Killed. And not just you- something like this could start a war.” 

“You say that like I’ve got a choice,” Jon muttered. He looked to the ceiling and imagined a world where he couldn’t be manipulated into following Elias’ plans. Maybe a world where he worked alongside Martin in the library, and could spend his days however he liked. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

He heard Martin sigh, then the sound of a heavy book being opened. “Right, of course. Elias hinted about how this is somehow related to your powers?”

“He said a good leader does what it takes to benefit their nation, and that I need to put Arendelle in a strong position in case my deficiencies ever become publicly known. It’s an insurance mission, to secure fishing stocks.”

“Fishing stocks,” Martin mumbled under his breath. Jon heard a page turn. “I swear your uncle doesn’t have a sense of compassion, for you or the countries you’ll be sabotaging. And this is just the interruption our research needed, right when we’ve had the breakthrough of actually trying your powers out.”

“Inter-interruption?” Jon looked up and met Martin’s eyes. “You don’t mean-”

Martin scoffed. “Of course we’re going to research a way to get you out of this, aren’t we?” He continued flipping through the book. “There must be a treaty he’d respect, or maybe some biological reason moving forward would just harm fish stocks further.” He chewed his lip as he read, scribbling notes on the pad near his left hand. 

Was there any problem Martin wouldn’t try to help him bear? It took all of Jon’s willpower not to throw himself into Martin’s arms just then. “I’ll make the tea, then,” he volunteered, to give himself a few moments alone to get his thoughts in order. It wouldn’t do to waste time gazing starry-eyed across the table when there was research to be done.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has a surprise for Martin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates within a week of one another? It can happen!

It had become a new addition to their routine, an extra night together free from inhibitions and wrapped in the soft thrill of watching Jon be himself. Sometimes they managed Sundays along with Saturdays. The rest of the week was consumed by research, attempts both at understanding Jon’s gifts and discovering tactics to stall Elias’s desire to misuse them.

They worked on control and artistry. Jon managed incredible structures, though they tried awfully hard not to get caught and he had to be careful not to build too high. He worked on stopping, mid freeze, as a safety precaution. He tried to learn to thaw things, couldn’t quite grasp it, but Martin thought they were making progress? Even if most of the attempts at thawing resulted in a hail of exploding shards of ice. They were the best months Martin had ever had.

On a night a few months in, Jon told Martin to dress extra warm and to be prepared to stay out a bit late. Martin knew that meant he’d be trying something new and reckless and braced himself. It was sometimes down to him to put the brakes on things so they wouldn’t get caught or injured, and it was getting harder the more comfortable they both become with Jon’s skills.

When he arrived at the hill, Jon was already on top, calling down to him. He hurried up to find the place softly aglow. A series of ice lanterns were scattered across the hilltop, each containing a single, flickering candle. Martin dropped to his knees on the frozen grass and took one into his hands. It was a perfect cylinder, etched with the feathery frost pattern Martin had never seen in nature, a pattern uniquely Jon. “Beautiful,” he whispered.

“Erm, I suppose, yeah,” said Jon, crouching next to Martin in the snow. Martin’s skin tingled pleasantly at the proximity. “Practical, mostly. Gives us more light to work with.” 

Of course Jon wasn’t thinking about how he’d just engineered one of the most beautiful sights Martin has ever seen. Trust him to see the practical angle at every turn. A bit like Jon himself, Martin mused, made all the more gorgeous by all the ways he tried to ignore styling his hair or dressing like anything other than a harried student in his pursuit of understanding. Martin couldn’t help but adore the strange, powerful, fragile man. He set the lantern down and turned to Jon. “Is this what you wanted to show me? Because they’re perfect. They might be your finest small-scale work yet.”

“No, that isn’t it,” Jon said. He threw an awkward glance over his shoulder before meeting Martin’s eyes. “Though now that you’ve had that reaction to the silly little ice lanterns-”

“They’re not silly, they really show how far you’ve come! They’re so neat and each one is unique. I know we’ve been focused on your control and you’ve wanted to learn a bit of technical skill too but really, I think you’re kind of an artist? You’ve done these and there was the whole thing with the snowdrops. And the staircases you practiced for when you make it to the North Mountain, those were grand.” 

Jon rolled his eyes. “The staircases were practical, if I’m ever going to make it up the mountain I’m not going to _climb_. And besides, monsters don’t create art, Martin,” he said, fondly exasperated. The monster talk had fallen off considerably since they’d begun their practice sessions and Martin was delighted to find that, even when the comments did happen, Jon’s heart didn’t seem to be in insulting himself half as much. He was even standing up to Elias more, and had delayed what Martin and Jon had come to call “the fishing trip,” twice now.

“Magically gifted people do,” Martin insisted. Jon flustered prettily at the compliment. Martin took the cue to save him from his embarrassment and stood, knocking the snow from his knees with gloved hands. “But if these aren’t the highlight of the night, then, lead on?” He offered Jon his hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Yes, ah, right over here.” Martin was delighted to find Jon kept hold of his hand, fingers wrapped around his palm as he dragged Martin further into the clearing. “We may need a bit more open space for what I have in mind.” They reached a central area and Jon dropped his hand. “Keep behind me now.” 

Martin stepped back and watched as Jon shook out his arms. He turned toward Martin, flashed him a brief smile, and spun back to face the open space ahead. “I’ve learned a new skill, I’ve just got to warm up a bit first.” He began to rub his hands together and Martin watched as a snowball formed between them, becoming larger with each pass of Jon’s palms against one another. He looked so different out here. In the library, he was sleep deprived, tense, sometimes a bit cutting with Martin even now. Out here under the stars, surrounded by snow, even if only for a few hours at a time, he looked free. Martin admired the way his white-streaked hair was coming loose from his braid as he worked, the look of happy concentration on his face, the absence of fear and pain. If only he could have this, if they could have this all the time. 

Jon was straining under the weight of a truly massive snowball. Martin blinked and looked closer- more of a snow cylinder? “Are you sure that isn’t too heavy?” 

Jon laughed, high and clear, and dropped the cylinder to the ground. “Of course it is but I like to do as much of the shaping by hand as I can.” He reached under the cylinder and pulled upward. It rose on four smaller mounds- no, not mounds, legs. Before Martin could ask, Jon was rolling a snowball again and settling it atop what must be a body. He stepped back and placed his hands together then drew them apart, as though opening a set of heavy curtains. Delicate icicles shot forward, draping the snow creature. 

Jon stepped back until he was level with Martin and looked up at him. “I know it’s no lantern but, well, what do you think?”

Martin wanted to say _I think you’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen, you ridiculous man_ but settled instead on a breathy chuckle. “Is that… a cow?”

Jon nodded. “Yes, a cow. You always like the cows we see on our way up here, so when I decided to practice animal forms I thought, well. Might as well make something Martin likes. Anyway, her name’s Enid, after another librarian I used to know. And she’s, ah, a bit of hugger,” Jon said with token disdain. 

Martin charged forward and threw his arms around the snow cow’s neck. “She’s gorgeous Jon, just perfect. Look, you’ve even done the fur with the icicles; that’s so clever! And her wee horns!” He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “You’d almost think she was alive, her eyes are so expressive.” He kissed the cow’s frigid nose. “Hello, Enid.” 

Jon rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “You really like her?” 

Martin gave her one last pat and turned back toward Jon. “I love her.”

Jon’s face flushed red and he mumbled something under his breath, before coming forward. “Well, what are you waiting for then? Climb up.”

Martin cocked his head. “Sorry, what?”

Jon drew his hand along the cow’s neck and created a pair of snow-reins. “I know cattle aren’t typically used for riding but I designed her with a few extra talents, so, climb up.” To demonstrate, he boosted himself up onto the cow and offered Martin a hand. It was a token gesture mostly, given Martin was quite a lot taller and stronger, but he accepted all the same and fit himself onto the cow’s back behind Jon. 

The field sparkled beneath them in the lanterns’ glow. The night could hardly get more lovely. “Hang on!” Jon cried, and Martin felt the world move beneath him.

The cow was alive, somehow, impossibly, alive. She shook herself out with a start, nearly dislodging both of them. Martin clung tightly to Jon’s back as he took the reins and directed them around the hilltop at a trot. Enid paused occasionally to nibble the frosted grass but was generally content to simply amble around the hilltop. 

Martin had never been happier. He knew he shouldn’t get used to this, the way Jon fit in his arms, the laughter in his voice as he showed off his skills for Martin alone. The intimacy was borrowed, on loan from a future where Jon would be a king, free to visit the library any time he liked and Martin just a lonely night librarian, same as always. Jon would marry, undoubtedly to some duchess or prince, and he’d have someone else as his confidant and closest friend. Martin tried to make his stupid heart quiet down and accept that this, this was the pinnacle, this would have to be it. Instead, he drew even closer, wrapping his arms around Jon and relishing the pine and frost scent of his hair, the softness of his fur collar, the pattern of his chest rising and falling with each excited gasp at Enid’s antics. 

After a few circles around the hilltop, Enid settled down to root through a particularly interesting snow drift. Martin reluctantly withdrew his arms from Jon’s waist and shimmed down. Jon released the reins and smiled down at him.

“It’s nice to be taller than you, for once,” he said, and, yes, he was right, it was nice. Martin wouldn’t care if Jon were half his height or double it, Jon from any angle was the nicest thing he could imagine looking at. Martin thought he caught just a hint of longing in Jon’s gaze but he was quickly disabused of that notion when Jon began speaking again. “Nice, yes, but I, ah, could use a little help getting down from here.” He raised his eyebrows and Martin felt his face erupt in a grin. 

“Can’t just create a snow staircase?” he asked as he reached up to lift Jon down. He set Jon gently down in the snow and froze. For whatever reason, Jon hadn’t stepped away and Martin hadn’t withdrawn his hands from his hips. 

“Could do,” said Jon, just a little breathy, and _oh,_ Martin couldn’t stop himself from meeting his eyes again now. “But it only seemed fair, I helped you up, you help me down. We complement one another.”

Martin swallowed, tried to focus anywhere except Jon but couldn’t make himself look away. “We- we do?” 

“Hmm, I think so. You’re tall, I’m short. You make excellent tea, I drink a lot of tea.” Martin was conscious of Jon’s hands on his shoulders, the tiniest half-step closer he’d made. “I’m brilliant but rude, you’re-”

“Stupid but kind?”

“I was going to say ‘brilliant in a completely different way and only rude to people who actually deserve it. Remember that visiting scholar?”

Martin laughed. “From Florin, and so sure he could explain all about fjords to me when you and I had just finished reading that book on Arendelle’s coastline!”

“He said they had nothing to do with glaciers, but you opened the book and pointed to the correct paragraph without even looking down at it!” Jon was giggling now, collapsing into Martin’s arms. Martin couldn’t help but hold him tighter, closer, until their foreheads were pressed together as they shook with laughter. The night had been everything he’d ever wanted, save this one thing. He closed his eyes and warned his heart not to get greedy.

It didn’t matter, because the second he spent strengthening his resolve, Jon spent tilting forward until they weren’t even a breath apart. “Could we?” He felt Jon’s words as much heard them.

Martin nodded, an answer and the final motion bringing them together all at once. 

Kissing Jon was nothing like Martin had imagined. In his daydreams, he’d always had to do something heroic or interesting to make Jon notice him, even before he knew Jon was the prince. He’d never imagined it could happen in such a simple way, Jon tipping forward against him after a shared laugh, their usual banter segueing so neatly into this. Jon’s lips were pleasantly cool, if chapped from spending so much time whipping up freezing winds. Martin sighed and pressed back against him, leaning down to adjust the angle and keep Jon from having to stay on his toes. Their noses bumped and they were both half-laughing between kisses but it was still better than the best daydream because it was Jon, impossible, difficult, beautiful Jon. 

Martin only pulled away when his neck began to cramp from leaning down and then just far enough to take a good look at Jon, glowing in the waning moonlight. He was slightly flushed and looked up at Martin with questioning eyes. “Was that, ah, ok? I should have asked a bit more clearly.”

Ok? Martin couldn’t believe Jon would even ask, wouldn’t let that question come between them for another moment. “I don’t know Jon, is this ok?” He leaned in again, cupping one hand against Jon’s cheek as he kissed him gently.

The second attempt was even better, improved by the tiny gasp Jon made every time Martin stroked a thumb across his cheek. Minutes later they parted as Jon ran his fingers through Martin’s hair one final time. 

“Well, that was, ah-” Martin started, before realizing he was completely out of words.

“The best night of my life?” Jon finished, looking at him with such an expression of adoration Martin couldn’t believe he’d missed it before. 

Martin collapsed back into the snow, tugging Jon down next to him. “You have no idea.”

“I have, in fact, been here for all of it. So I think I do.” Jon brought an arm around Martin’s back and leaned against him. “How are you? Too cold? Should we go back?”

“Mmm, it’s a bit chilly, but luckily someone tipped me off so I’m dressed warm.” 

“Yes, yes, this was premeditated. I’ll admit it.” Jon cuddled closer and took Martin’s hand. “There are a few things we should, ah, discuss. Before we continue.” 

Martin’s heart sank. “You need to keep this a secret, because I’m just the librarian, yeah?”

Jon snorted. “No, my grandmother won’t mind. Not in the slightest. She’s eager to see me married.”

“M-married?” Martin sputtered. It was a bit much, going from wondering about a secret relationship to a lifelong commitment in a single breath. As much as he’d adore Jon either way, neither prospect was ideal, at least for the moment. 

Jon’s eyes went large. “Oh, no I- I’m not asking. Um. Not yet, anyway. Maybe someday?” He smiled softly and Martin’s heart melted a little at the sight. “Oh God, I’ll have to top ‘living snow cow’ someday if I’m going to propose.” 

Martin laughed. “You’ve really set yourself up there. Should have started smaller, a snow chipmunk or something.”

“Hmm, next time, perhaps.” Jon’s forehead wrinkled. “No, what I want to discuss is, ah. You know Georgie?”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned her. She’s engaged to your cousin?”

Jon nodded. “Yes, well. She and I were betrothed, at one point. It didn’t work out, obviously, but we’ve remained friends. That’s one of the few things I don’t see as negotiable.”

Martin held up a hand in acquiescence. “I understand, she’s important to you. You’re not, um, still pining over her?”

“Hah. No. She and Melanie are, well. I hope you’ll get to meet them both, someday soon. They’re an ideal pair, and I much prefer them together over any thought of marrying Georgie myself.” 

“Okay, friendship with the ex who is also about to be your cousin-in-law. What else do you want to discuss?”

“Well. I’m asexual. Just completely not interested, not in you, or Georgie, or anyone else. Not in Tim either, and that’s another friend to watch out for- you’ll meet him soon, he’s just back to town and he’s quite a flirt.” Jon rolled his eyes. “But I’m not a flirt, not in that way, so anything I say that could be construed as interest is either a middling attempt at humor or completely unintentional.” 

Martin had scarcely thought of this conversation, and certainly never anticipated this. Jon was asexual too? He took a deep breath and looked up at the stars overhead. “How is this moment real?”

Jon pulled away. “Oh. Um. If that won’t work for you, that’s- that’s fine. Friends?” 

Martin tightened his grip on Jon’s hand. “Oh! Sorry, no, that works for me, I was just- wow. I did not expect you to just say it? But it very much works for me, because, ah. Me too.”

A look of wonder overtook Jon’s face. “You too?” 

Martin leaned in and pecked Jon's cheek. "Me too. More indifferent than actively disinterested, but in practical terms, um. This is probably an ideal situation?" He was giddy, and asked a question he’d quickly regret. “How long ago could we have figured this out?" 

Jon’s nose wrinkled as he considered the question. “Oh, don’t make me answer that,” he said.

Martin couldn’t resist leaning in and kissing the delicate space at the bridge of Jon’s nose. “Can’t be nearly as embarrassing as my answer,” he volunteered. “So you’ve got to go first.”

“Would you like to wager on that?”

“Absolutely. Whoever had feelings later owes the other a kiss.”

“I can take those terms.” A smile tentatively crept across Jon’s face. “I think it started when you left for a week, about a year ago? I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I didn’t really get it, though, until you found out about my powers. You just accepted me. Exactly as I was, without fear or question, and I couldn’t help but fall for you after that. Then the whole business of encouraging me up here, I think I knew you felt the same way as soon as you spent the whole night in the freezing cold with me.”

Martin felt himself go red. “Was I that obvious? I didn’t know you liked me until just now.”

“I wasn’t that obvious?! I was sure you’d found me out. And anyway, you haven’t told me, how long for you?”

“Don’t laugh,” Martin hung his head and spoke to the ground. “Since that first conversation.”

“No. I was a nightmare!”

Martin nodded. “Apparently ‘nightmare’ is my type!”

Jon’s face grew serious. “You- you didn’t know I was the prince, back then.”

Martin shook his head. “No. I thought you were just a run of the mill disheveled scholar. A handsome one though? I used to daydream about kissing you against the bookshelves.”

“Do you have your keys on you?”

“Why?”

“Don’t be stupid, you’ve just won a kiss and admitted to a dream it’s within my power to make come true. There’s only one sensible course of action under these circumstances.” And with that, Jon was tugging him down the hill toward the library.

Martin ran after him. “We can’t! You know we’ll be caught, that’s why we used to take Saturdays and Sundays off!”

But Jon only laughed, fingers still laced with Martin’s. “Ok, ok, at least let me walk you home?”

Martin felt a warm tingle. Jon wanted more time with him, and he wanted all the time he could get with Jon. He wasn’t alone in this, and wasn’t that just the biggest and best surprise of his entire existence? 

He let go of Jon’s hand and jogged a little ahead. “Only if you can catch me!” he called over his shoulder, running out just far enough that Jon would have to give a bit of a chase before catching him.

“Martin!” Jon called after him, without a trace of annoyance. He sprinted down the hill. 

Martin pulled himself to a stop, ready to let himself be caught. His foot connected with the grass, slick with evening dew, and he suddenly found himself tumbling over the hillside. Jon was just an arms length away now and reached out to grab him, but missed. Martin kept falling, loosing all sense of up and down, earth and sky. 

“Martin!” A wave of snow shot past him but it was too late, Martin was tumbling, the momentum carrying him farther and faster than ever. He heard a great crack as snow erupted from above, or was it next to him? No, no, the sound was coming from within his own head. He tried to blink his eyes open, but all he saw was white. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot has arrived! 
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin is hurt and Jon has a decision to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're checking from bookmarks, this has updated a couple of times recently, so check this is the chapter you want! 
> 
> The comments on the last chapter were among the nicest I've ever received. You're all lovely and I'm glad to have you reading along as I give Jon and Martin nice things (and take them away). Thank you for making my first long fic a joy to write.
> 
> See the end notes for content warnings, and thank you for reading!

Jon dropped to his knees beside Martin and pulled him to his chest. His hands skimmed down Martin’s neck and across each wrist, desperately seeking a pulse. He barely registered the streak of white hair now standing boldly against Martin’s dark curls, brushed it aside with all the rest as he tried to find any sign of life. Two fingers under Martin’s jaw, he found a pulse at last but it was a weak, flicking thing. Martin’s skin was freezing and his usually ruddy complexion nearly matched the snow surrounding him. 

Tim. He had just come back from Northuldra, a fully qualified healer, and he knew about Jon’s powers, might know what to do. He had to get Martin to Tim. But how? Martin was a large man, tall, broad, rounded where Jon was spare. Jon’s slight frame was already bent as he struggled to pull Martin closer to him. He held him tightly, sharing whatever body heat he could manage, screwing his eyes closed as he fought to summon a plan. 

He opened his eyes to discover Enid, lumbering her way down the hill at a speed no real cow could reach. She arrived at his side and immediately lay down, letting Jon heave Martin over her back. He grabbed her reins and tugged her toward Tim’s cottage. It wouldn’t do to dwell on whatever new element of Jon’s magic was making snow creatures respond to his thoughts, if Martin could just be okay, if he’d just wake up, they could sort it out later.

Jon and Enid stumbled through the dark field, quick as they could. Eventually, Enid knelt again and Jon gratefully clambered onto her back, holding Martin in place and steering her as best he could. Each time they met a smooth patch of earth, Jon pressed a hand to Martin’s cheek. Colder by the minute.

At long last, Tim’s cottage came into view. Thanking any power that would listen for the small miracle of Tim, just returned home, Jon knocked briskly at the door. There was a crash and some swearing, but no footsteps. Jon knocked again, a bit louder, and the door was pulled open by a disgruntled, half asleep man. 

“Jonathan,” he said, a hint of a yawn buried in the warning tone. “If you’d wanted to see me so badly, you could have come right when I got in this afternoon. Or had the decency to silently crawl into bed with me for a welcome home cuddle.” He punctuated the remark with a wink.

Jon did not have time for niceties but then, those weren’t his strong suit to begin with. “This isn’t a social call. I need help.” 

Tim looked puzzled for a moment before opening his eyes wider and taking in the scene. Jon tugged Enid forward and began to pull Martin off her back. “Help me get him inside, please tell me you’ve got a fire going. He- he’s so cold.”

“Ok, ok,” said Tim, lifting Martin’s legs as Jon slipped his hands under his shoulders. “Wait- is that a snow cow?”

“Yes, long story, we will catch up later. Right now, I need to get Martin warm. Please.”

“Martin?” Tim looked down at the man they carried then back up at Jon. “Oh, he’s _cute_. Bring him by sometimes when he’s not an icicle.” 

“Not the time for flirting.” They carried Martin into the cottage and laid him on the rug by the fireplace. Jon had no time to take in details beyond _here’s a warm spot_ and frantically searching the half-unpacked cottage for a kettle at Tim’s direction, as Tim stripped off Martin’s outer layers and examined him. “Water?” 

“There’s a tap next to the big green box,” said Tim. “Check the box too, we’re going to need the hot water bottles, to warm his core.”

Jon filled the kettle, placed it on the stove top, and made his way back to kneel by Martin’s head. “Please, tell me there’s something you can do.”

Tim frowned. “Hypothermia, in mid-September? Sure, the nights get chilly, but I’d only expect that if he’d fallen into deep, cold water. But he’s completely dry.” Tim placed his ear to Martin’s chest, then pulled back up. “His breath is really shallow. I need more information. How did this happen?” 

Jon picked up one of Martin’s hands. His skin was nearly translucent and his pulse fluttered weakly. “It’s, ah. My fault. No water, no weather, just an… accident. He was tumbling down a hill, and I tried to catch him, so I threw down a little snow. I think I struck him, he- he doesn’t normally have that streak of white in his hair.”

Tim moved to cradle Martin’s head in his lap. He brushed his fingers gently through Martin’s hair and teased apart his curls. “This is a magical injury.” He paused before meeting Jon’s eyes. “I think you froze his head.”

Jon swallowed the tears threatening to choke his voice off. “Not intentionally. Never intentionally, not anyone, but this is Martin, I couldn’t ever want to hurt him. We’d been so careful, for months and months, but tonight he- I- we were a bit giddy and then everything just went wrong.”

Tim gave him a small smile. “I know you’d never hurt anyone intentionally. I didn’t realize you were using your powers at all though? Outside of lessons with creepy Elias, at least.” 

Jon looked down at Martin’s hand, at the lifeless white that had replaced the usual rosy hue. How could he ever atone for this? He already owed Martin so much, just for being his friend. “My grandmother and Elias don’t know. I met Martin last year. He’s the night librarian. He kept bringing me tea, I accidentally tried to cool the tea once, and it got a bit out of hand.” Jon sighed. “He found out but Tim, I- I trust him. He’s the only person aside from you I’ve ever trusted with this.” 

Tim raised his eyebrows. “Couldn’t have mentioned you’d gotten a boyfriend in any one of your letters? You wound me.” 

“He’s not, we only just- and Elias reads my mail, and- just heal him. Please.” 

Tim settled Martin’s head against his knees. “Well, you’re lucky it was just his head. The heart isn’t easy to change but the head? I can persuade it.”

“Do what you have to do. Please. Just don’t let me lose him.” 

Tim clenched his jaw and slipped his fingers back in Martin’s hair. Jon watched as he slowly, carefully drew pale blue and silver strands away from his scalp. “You can’t let this happen again, okay? You know I’ve never liked your family’s approach to your gift.”

A ‘gift’ that had almost killed Martin. “My curse.”

“Gift,” he said firmly. “But I do agree with them that you’ve got to be careful about control, especially when you’re otherwise emotionally charged up. You remember when we were kids, you always struggled the most when we’d had an argument, or when you were excited because lessons were over for the day, or when anything made you sad.” He met Jon’s eyes, didn’t need to say whenever we lost someone for them to both catch his meaning. Jon just nodded. “Did something happen tonight?”

Jon gave a bitter laugh. “I was showing off a bit. I made lanterns and I’ve just learned to, well, animate snow animals. Martin loves cows, so I made a snow cow we could actually ride.” He wrapped both hands around Martin’s and looked down as a little color began to rise in his cheeks. “We, ah. Kissed.”

Tim continued working the ice out of Martin’s head, throwing wisps out into the air as he pulled. “Yeah, that’s the Jon I know. You could never handle a bit of flirting, let alone an actual kiss.”

“That’s hardly the point,” Jon huffed. “And I was fine until he started falling. I couldn’t help it then, I had to do something.”

Tim gave him an appraising look. “Something was throwing snow at the problem?”

“Er, yes? Look, the ground out there is really rocky, I didn’t want him to end up with a concussion.” 

Beneath him, Martin gave a ragged gasp. Jon stroked his cheek. “Martin?” But his eyes didn’t open, and Tim continued his work, now lifting each of his eyelids and looking beneath them. “I thought it was working, Tim, tell me it’s working?” He couldn’t keep the desperation from his voice. 

“Of course it’s working, what do you think I was doing for all those years in Northuldra?” said Tim. “When you mentioned a concussion I wanted to pause a moment and check for that too, now that I know more about what happened. Just because we’re treating the magic doesn’t mean we can rule out mundane complications too.” He finished checking Martin’s eyes, then placed his hand over Jon’s on Martin’s cheek. “I’m not just a pretty face, I’m a fairly competent healer. He’s going to be fine, Jon.”

Jon let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and reached for Martin’s wrist again. His pulse had strengthened and his hands had begun to warm. Good signs, Jon reminded himself. So long as it didn’t happen again. “Is there anything I can do? To help?” he asked.

Tim placed a pillow below Martin’s head, then settled back on his heels. “I’ve got all the ice out, so now it’s just waiting for him to wake up. You could try talking to him? I’ll get the hot water bottles ready and a cup of tea, for when he wakes up.”

“Right, of course.” Jon cleared his throat, then took Martin’s hands again. “Martin? Hello, I- I don’t know if you can hear me. But this is Jon. Please let me know you’re alright? I’m here with Tim, and he’d really like to meet you. But we just need you- I need you. We need you to open your eyes. Please.” He lifted Martin’s hands to his lips and kissed them each in turn.

Martin’s eyes flicked open. He took a shaky breath and blinked several times. “Jon?”

Jon looked down at Martin, watched the fog in his eyes slowly clear. He was beautiful, even here on the floor of a half-unpacked cabin in the hazy light of the sun’s first rays. His cheeks were growing pinker as he warmed, throwing his freckles into gentler relief and softening his already rounded face. Martin smiled lopsidedly up at Jon and his heart fluttered in response.

 _Oh_. First he’d almost driven Martin away, all insults and irritation. Then he’d argued with him, shot down his ideas, even as they’d become friends. But Martin had been like water; fluid, persistent, utterly necessary. He’d worn right through Jon’s defenses and had nearly paid with his life. 

Jon was in both love and trouble. He wanted to take Martin into his arms, to promise him everything and suggest they run off, damn Arendelle and Jon’s powers. He wanted to force Martin away, ensure he could never harm him again. He didn’t want to choose. 

“Jon?” Martin called again, and he realized he’d been too lost in thought to care for the man in front of him. 

“I’m here,” he said, a little more breathlessly than intended and incredibly fond. Martin struggled to sit up and Jon moved to get an arm under him. “I’m here, I’ve got you.” 

Martin brought a hand to his head and rubbed. “It hurts. What happened?”

Jon guided Martin until his head rested against Jon’s chest. “I’ve got you, just rest, it’s, I-” he turned to Tim, and he gestured for him to go on. Right. “You slipped, on the hill. I tried to catch you with snow, but I struck your head and you were so cold, Martin. You were so cold, but Enid helped.”

“Enid. The cow?”

“Yes, we took you here, to Tim. He saved you. And now I promise, I’ll never use my powers again, I can’t, we have to keep you safe-”

“Jon.”

“I should have known, I don’t have perfect control under the best of conditions and you were falling, Martin, I was so worried, I-.”

“Jon.” Martin twisted away from him, moved with a wince to sit opposite. “I’m fine, just a headache. Bit cold and stiff.” He took Jon’s hands in his and met his eyes. “You can’t promise not to use your powers anymore just because I got hurt, remember? You’ve got to learn to use them, otherwise, they just kind of come out?”

“None of that matters, not when you could get hurt-”

“I’m fine!”

Tim returned to Martin’s side, and tucked hot water bottles around him. “He’s ok, but maybe practice alone for a while?”

Jon shook his head. “Just give me a moment to explain.”

The door to the cabin flew open with a bang and cold air rushed around them. Tim dropped the mug of tea in his hand as Jon and Martin sprang up, and Jon flung himself between Martin and the door. He wasn’t about to let something harm him again when he’d just gotten him back. 

Elias appeared in the doorway and Jon froze. 

“Jon! You’re late for our meeting about the trade deal with Weasleton. Just because your friend is back in Arendelle does not mean you can shirk your duties.” 

Elias, his sunrise meetings, and knowing wherever Jon was, sunup to sundown. He should have realized. “Er, yeah. Sorry, just getting caught up. It won’t happen again.”

“It had better not. Tim, if he bothers you again, remind him to go back to the castle please.”

“He wasn’t bothering me.”

Elias continued into the room and his gaze slid from Jon to Martin. “Oh, and who is this?”

Jon gritted his teeth. “Just a friend who also stopped by,” he said. 

“Curious hair you’ve got there- tell me, have you always had that streak of white?”

Jon watched Martin’s hands scrabble to his hair, pulling the curls down for a look. His eyes went wide as they met Jon’s, then he dropped his hands to drag his palms against his trousers. “Oh that, yeah, ah, same as ever?”

Elias continued forward. “Hmm. Tell me, then, how did you manage to get a supernatural injury like that, working in the library?” 

Martin swallowed. “I, ah-” 

Jon took a half step forward, determined to stay between Elias and Martin. “How did you know he works in the library?”

Elias laughed. “Please, Jon. I know where you go at night.”

“You do?”

“Wondering why I never stopped you before?”

“Yes?”

“Simple, I thought it was a lark. There’s not too much in books that can harm you. Or help you, as you’ve no doubt figured out, but that’s beside the point. I was content to let it rest, but you’ve been getting bold, haven’t you? At first, I thought you were just taken with the librarian.” Elias caught Jon’s eye before sweeping his gaze across Martin. “But now that I’ve had a good look at him, I see that can’t be it.” 

Jon opened his mouth to defend Martin but before he could speak, Tim piped up. “I don’t know, I’ve only just met him but there’s something to be said for that sexy bookworm thing he’s got going on.” 

A few paces away, Elias rocked back on his heels. “You know, I’ve seen this sort of injury before?” Jon’s head snapped toward him. “Oh, you don’t remember, do you? You were so young after all. Struck your father, right in the eye. Turned it blue,and it stayed that way until the shipwreck.” 

Jon shook. “No. I- I didn’t mean to. I’d never mean to.” He’d never seen any photos, never heard he’d struck his father. Had Elias kept it from him all this time?

“You’re an adult, Jon, and you haven’t gotten any better at controlling yourself. You're a security risk and what’s worse, now he’s a security risk too.”

Martin grasped his hand. Right, that was why. Martin was why, he could stand up to Elias if it was about Martin, couldn’t he? Jon squeezed Martin’s hand back. “You didn’t have a problem with Tim knowing and Martin, he’s my-” and they hadn’t talked about it, had they, what they were. Jon took a breath to settle his nerves. “He’s my friend too.”

“Tim was set to study healing magic, it made sense for him to know in case there were any… incidents. And didn’t that come in handy just now, hmm?” Elias continued toward them and reached out toward Martin. “Looks like he got you back up on your feet but, I wonder. Will you always be marked by Jon’s mistake?” Jon stomach churned as Elias slid his hand into Martin’s hair and fingered the white streak that lay across his cheek. “Will it build up over time, dozens of injuries? Or will the next time destroy you?”

Beside him, Martin did not flinch. He set his shoulders back and looked Elias straight in the eye. “I trust Jon.” 

“Hmm, that makes fools of the both of you.” He turned away, paced the space in front of the door. Jon’s pulse raced. He was an idiot, an absolute idiot. Completely in love and so full of regret for dragging such a brave and decent man into the mess that was his life. “Would it help to know I haven’t any intention to harm him?” Elias continued. “I only want to make him forget.”

“You- he can’t actually do that? Can he?” Martin’s eyes darted across the room, sweeping between Tim and Jon.

“Not without a willing healer,” said Tim, fixing Elias with a glare.

“I won’t let him,” Jon said, hanging onto Martin’s hand even tighter. 

“Fine,” said Elias. “I’ll just have to have him banished.” He leaned in toward Jon. “You know, they’ve probably got room at that prison colony in the Florin mines, and their ambassador owes me a favor.”

“You.. you couldn’t,” Jon said, swallowing the wobble in voice.

Martin stepped in front of him. “You can’t do this. Doesn’t Jon technically outrank you?” 

Elias shrugged. “He knows the consequences if doesn’t play nice. There’s a reason, for all your research he’s still scheduled to come with me on my little fishing expedition.”

Martin opened his mouth as if to reply, but no words came. With a choked gasp, he tumbled backward, directly into Jon’s arms. 

Jon stumbled, Martin’s weight collapsing against his chest. “Tim!” Tim was there in a second, helping Jon ease Martin to the floor. His hands fluttered at Martin’s temples as Jon desperately cradled his cheeks. “Martin. Martin please, please wake up.”

“Take his head.” Tim maneuvered Martin into Jon’s lap and raced to rummage through the boxes on his table. “I know I packed it, where is it?”

Elias retreated to the doorway and watched the scene with a knowing smile. “As I said, better if he just forgets, isn’t it? I’ll give you a moment of privacy.” He stepped out, closing the door behind him. 

Jon gritted his teeth. He had to stay focused on Martin. “Tim, what can I do?” 

“He’s crashing, it isn’t the ice. Well, not directly at least.” He pulled a vial of liquid from the box and retrieved a dropper from the dish rack. “The after effects of that sort of magical force, plus healing magic. And we can’t forget the emotional whiplash of kissing your boyfriend and getting confronted by his spooky uncle.” Tim chewed his lip. “I can’t believe Elias said he should be forced to forget about your powers. It’s a lot of shock for one person to handle.” He elbowed Jon out of the way and shook the vial, looking down at Martin. “A few drops ought to do it.” He steadied the dropper over Martin’s mouth. 

Jon reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Wait. Ah. Making Martin forget, is that, is that possible?”

Tim frowned. “Yeah but that isn’t something I’d do without his consent. And you heard him, he cares about you. He won’t leave you alone.”

“And I care about him.” Jon leaned toward Tim. Maybe this was it, his only chance to save Martin from Elias, from the mess of Jon’s life. From Jon. “Please, I just- I’ll tell him again, we’ll make a plan, so Elias won’t know he’s remembered. But since we’re here, with Elias coming back any minute. So he won’t suspect anything, so he won’t banish him to keep him away from me. So he won’t hurt him more than I already have. Could you?”

Tim glared at him. “He trusts you. You promise you’ll tell him the truth? Because I won’t be able to, not with that kind of magic it- it’ll have to be you, you understand? Since it’s your secret. Promise me?”

Someday, if he was ever free of all this, he’d keep that promise. “Absolutely.” 

He exhaled forcefully and handed Jon the dropper. “Ok, but we have next to no time to work with. I’m going to draw out the memories- remove the magic, leave his connection to you. I wouldn’t take that away, even if I could. But the context of those memories can be managed. I guess. The second I say so, push his lips open and place three drops on his tongue.” He set to work, hands skittering across Martin’s forehead as he chanted. “NOW!”

Jon gently pressed Martin’s cheeks together in one hand until his lips were open. He positioned the dropper and counted the drops. One, two, three. 

Martin stirred in his sleep but did not awaken. “Did it work?” Jon’s voice trembled. His fingertips crackled with ice waiting to burst forth. He pulled away from Martin and shoved them into his pockets.

Tim placed his hands on Martin’s temples. “Yes, it took. He’ll be out of it for a while though. Memory alteration isn’t easy on the body. It doesn’t want to let go.”

Jon cleared his throat, looked from Tim to the door and back. “Right, I suppose I’d better go explain to Elias.”

“You should be here. When he wakes up, he’ll want to know what happened. He deserves an answer, Jon.” 

The vial in Jon’s hand frosted over. He set it next to Tim and walked to the door. “You’re right, he does deserve that. But he also deserves to be safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: non-consensual memory alteration, an emergency medical situation, manipulative Elias shenanigans
> 
> Originally, I had all these lovely bits where Jon tries to rub the circulation back into Martin's hands. Then I googled "hypothermia first aid" and realized you have to warm the person's core first. I've retained whatever tenderness I could though, we deserve a little softness with our angst <3


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin can't make sense of things, Tim is frustrated, and Jon is distant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the sad part now, friends. Thanks for sticking with this.
> 
> See the end notes for a brief content warning.

Martin knew how to sustain himself on hope. As a child, he’d taken comfort in stories that told him he could someday construct his own life, away from his mother’s disapproval, and find some measure of happiness. By the time he moved to the capitol for the library job, he’d already rebuilt himself out of the ashes of dreams burned by circumstance, each new scaffolding founded on hope alone. 

He was now finding there were times when hope did not serve him well. The hope of waking up from a dreamless but painful sleep knowing Jon would be there, only to find himself alone with Tim, a near stranger, who could only tell him he’d taken a rough fall and hit his head. Hope bursting from the memory of Jon kissing him, doused when he felt the specifics slip away from him. The hope of three weeks alone on the night shift, three solitary Saturdays at the base of their usual hill waiting. His stupid heart hoping on and on despite all evidence he should give up. 

What had happened to drive Jon away? Each night after his lonely shift ended, Martin laid awake recalling all the time they’d spent together in the library, while Jon studied. Or out on the hilltop, where Jon did some kind of practical research, meteorology, maybe? While the edges of his memory had frayed, the emotion, the sheer joy of being with Jon, was in focus as sharp as ever. 

He could see the hazy shadow of the night everything went wrong, the night they admitted how they felt. The night they laid it all out and Jon still walked away from him. 

After those first few weeks, Tim began to show up at the library some nights. He seemed as unhappy as Martin, sighing into every cup of tea Martin offered him. Eventually Martin switched him to coffee, which earned him less sighing and even the occasional half-smile. 

They didn’t talk, not really. Sometimes Tim would start to say something but he lost the nerve halfway through the first sentence, dissolving into a muttered “thanks for the drink.” He read a lot of texts about curses and Martin wondered if he was considering choosing a specialty as a healer.

Mostly they just existed in the same place, two sad people united, if not in friendship, then in their desolation. 

One particularly dreary Friday, Martin screwed up his courage, sat down opposite Tim, and decided to simply ask. 

“You know Jon pretty well, right? We used to be close. Do you- could you tell me, why does he hate me now?”

Tim gave Martin an odd look, half exasperation and half hope. “You finally asked!”

Martin felt himself flush. “Um, yes? Sorry, was I meant to ask sooner? It’s just awkward, having the ‘hey do you know why someone hates me?’ conversation.” 

“He doesn’t hate you.” Tim’s eyes went wide at his own words. “Huh. That’s the most I’ve been able to say about it since it happened. Stupid magic rules.” 

“Magic rules?” Martin blinked a few times and Tim gave a slight shrug. “Right, so. Something is keeping you from telling me exactly what’s going on?” Great. Tim could answer all his questions, was here and willing, and still couldn’t make it better. Martin wanted to cry. 

“Right, only Jon can tell you what happened. A lot of good that does either of us,” Tim grumbled.

So that meant Jon had two friends- or was Martin an ex-friend? Two people regardless, who wanted him to free them from whatever this was. If he felt even a fraction as close to Martin as Martin had to him, before whatever happened, happened, that should have been an easy choice. “Well, are you really sure he doesn’t hate me? Because something happened, that night I met you. I know it did, and Jon quit speaking to me after. Does he- would he want me to leave the city?” It wouldn’t be easy or wholly voluntary, but Martin would do it, if it made things better for Jon. If that’s what Jon wanted. “He used to come to the library every night and now it’s been so long, and this is his home, I mean literally he’s the prince and we’re in the castle, and I don’t want to, um, make him feel like he shouldn’t use the library, so I’ll quit, I guess, if he needs me to quit, I just need to know?”

Tim rested his chin on one hand, tapped a finger against his lips. “No, he- I can tell you he doesn’t hate you or want you to leave. I just can’t give you a reason.” He laughed bitterly. “Not for lack of trying, believe me.”

“I’m sorry, what?” 

Tim sighed. “Right, ok. So, as you can plainly tell, there’s something up with Jon. It involves forces a bit larger than you or I. Forces,” he said through clenched teeth, “that give me a splitting headache and choke off my ability to speak any time I get too close to telling you what’s actually going on.” He paused and looked at the ceiling for a moment before focusing on Martin again. “You know, I almost wish I could tell you to just leave? You’re obviously a good guy, kind enough to keep bringing me coffee and patient enough to put up with Jon… but I don’t think that would actually change anything. Not sure you even could leave, without Elias’s permission anyway. And Jon would just keep avoiding talking about it, then exploding at me every time we come near the topic of Martin Blackwood-”

“Tim, you- you don’t have to, um, do anything? That’s not what I’m asking. I just, uh. I want to know, if there’s something I did, something making him uncomfortable.”

Tim leaned across the table. “Nothing at all. I think he’s more likely to go to pieces if you left, actually. He asks me about you, gets mad at himself every time but does it anyway.”

Martin felt his cheeks color. “Oh. Um. He does?”

Tim smiled sympathetically. “Yeah, he’s still got it bad for you. Pretends he doesn’t or, that’s not quite right? Pretends he isn’t thinking about you, at least. He likes to say he’s ‘put aside youthful dalliances,’ and ‘really Tim, we’ve got matters of public health to discuss in your official capacity, I’m not asking for reports about the librarian,’” Tim said, his voice a mockery of the royal accent, lips drawn into a Jon-like line. “But whenever I don’t update him he’s an absolute terror until I sneak in a bit of information. Last Thursday, I held out all the way until the end of our meeting, made him have to actually to ask me.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Martin. “He was so angry about it, it was beautiful.” 

“What, uh, do you tell him?” Martin’s voice squeaked.

“Nothing bad, like I said, you’re the most innocent one of us in this whole c-” Tim erupted into a coughing fit, sputtering out non-sense syllables until Martin ran for a glass of water. When he returned, he found Tim shouting at the ceiling. “Ok, ok, I get it!” Tim took the glass from Martin and had a sip. “Thanks. Looks like I came too close to the big reveal, and whatever force is screwing with us right now decided I didn’t need my respiratory system to actually work.” He drained the rest of the glass. “That’s what I get for doing something against my own ethics in the first place, I guess.” He put down his drinking glass and gestured at Martin’s chair. “Go ahead, sit back down, I’ll toe the damned line a bit more carefully. Anyway, like I said, nothing bad. I just tell Jon you’re still diligently manning the night desk, pining away for him, same as ever.”

Martin’s ears felt impossibly hot. “I- erm- I’m not pining, he shouldn’t have to worry about my feelings.”

Tim grinned. “Oh, yes he should. Serves him right, he made-” he stopped speaking, chewed his lip for a moment. “Ok, navigating around that part should have been obvious, that’s my mistake. But regardless, Jon absolutely should know just how sad this is making you. You clearly care about one another and there’s nothing stopping him from coming to the library to do something about it, even with the, ah, constrictions presently in place.”

“Then why doesn’t he,” Martin said, forlorn. “If it’s like what you say, and he doesn’t hate me.”

“Believe it or not, he thinks he’s doing this for your benefit. I told him you should be allowed to make your own decisions, but he’s not really even inclined to listen to the medical advice I give him, and I’m actually qualified in that. My training in matters of the heart is purely experiential.” He winked and Martin felt himself smile, just a little at the cheek of it.

“I just wish there were another way to find out, without having to go through him. So maybe I’d understand and know whether I should be angry or if I’d agree with him.” 

Tim shrugged. “Believe me. I’ve looked. Not like getting knowledge from the books here, where you’ve just to charm the librarian.”

Martin felt himself blush a little. “I could just give you a library card, you know.” 

* * *

From then on, Martin and Tim were friends, as much as two people could be when one looked at the other with such guilt and frustration. Tim was jovial, always making Martin laugh and offering to get him out of castle for a few hours, but under the veneer Martin could tell spending time with Martin troubled him. There was so much that had to go left unsaid.

Martin spotted Jon, sometimes, at a distance. A few times, he even tried to greet him, only for Jon to duck his head and hurry away, quickly finding an excuse to be anywhere except where Martin might be. Still, he’d set aside books he knew Jon would find interesting and send them off with Tim with little notes tucked inside. Just in case.

_My Dear Jon, I thought of you when I noticed we’d gotten something in about expeditions to the North Mountain. I think you used to talk about visiting. I miss you and I’d love to talk if you’d ever want to? I’ll bring the tea! Yours, Martin._

_Dear Jon, Were you still curious about the hydrology on the western shore? The latest geology survey is attached. Thinking of you, Martin._

_Jon, The library received this atlas from Guilder and it has maps of the norther and southern polar regions. Warmest Wishes, Martin._

_For Prince Jonathan, relating to your interest in ancient runes. Regards, Martin Blackwood, Librarian._

There was never a response.

* * *

When his mother died the next spring, it was hard to summon much feeling at all. He forced himself home, settled her affairs. Buried her, next to his grandparents, and that was it. No more family, no real connections to anything. Just Martin Blackwood, solitary and likely to remain so. What use was hope against so much evidence this was simply the way his life was meant to be?

And yet, when he returned to the library, bone tired from the journey and numb to the possibility his body could bear any other sort of feeling, a package lay on his desk. A bouquet of snowdrops, a tin of shortbread, and a three line note in handwriting he never thought he’d see again.

_Martin,_

_I’m sorry._

_\- Jon_

He pressed the note and flowers between the pages of a book in his personal collection and tried to forget.

* * *

**_Two years later_ **

On a warm midsummer night, a few weeks after the queen’s funeral, Jon appeared at the circulation desk halfway through Martin’s shift. He’d clearly paid no mind to the weather and was dressed in an over-sized jumper and a pair of long gloves. The effect made him look small and hesitant, and even after all that had passed between them Martin immediately felt pulled to soothe him.

“Martin?” His voice was a ghost of a thing.

Martin’s traitorous heart fluttered. “Jon, I’m so sorry about your grandmother. Is there anything- can I make you a cup of tea?”

Jon stared at him for a moment before running a gloved hand through his hair. “That won’t be necessary. I just- there’s a book we need to have at the coronation.”

“The _Record of Monarchs_? I've already got it out of the display case and wrapped up. Ready for pickup if you need it now, but I thought Leitner would just take it with him when it was time?"

Jon gave a sharp nod. “Yes. I would like- you should be the one. To present it, at the coronation.”

It was meant to be the Head Librarian’s job and Martin knew he ought to object. Being close to Jon again, even for just a moment, would only remind his battered heart what it had managed to lose. But when Martin saw Jon’s watery smile, all intention of a polite decline fled. He was mourning and afraid, and Martin couldn’t do anything about it except offer the smallest, kindest smile he could muster and agree to let his heart break all over again. “I’d be honored.” 

“Yes, er. Right.” Jon eyes flicked away and settled on the stack of books Martin was checking in. “Anything new in the, ah. In the library?”

Martin shuffled through them, pulled out one on expeditions to the North Mountain. “This one just came in, you used to read about mountains a lot, yeah? Would you like to take it with you?”

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “I haven’t really got time, anymore, now that I’ve got to, well.” He sighed. “Manage the kingdom.”

“Oh, right, right.” Martin felt himself flush. “I have some down time, if there’s ever anything you want read? And, um, summarized?” 

“I’ll… keep that in mind.” 

God, he looked tired. Martin had never seen Jon’s complexion so grey, the pallor of his cheeks fading into the dark hallows under his eyes. He reached out a hand across the desk and laid it on Jon’s shoulder, felt Jon lean into his grasp just a fraction. “Jon? Please, I know we don’t exactly talk any more. And, um. Some of my recent notes, when I send you books, are a bit short. And you never reply? But I want- no, I need you to know. I’m, um. I’m here for you.”

Jon looked up at him. “Martin-”

“Jon. Just let me finish? I know I’m not, uh, not a brilliant adviser or military strategist or whatever it is you need just now. And I still don’t know why you stopped coming to the library. But even if you don’t want to talk to me, even if you hate me, I still- I’m still your friend, ok?” Martin managed a tight smile. “I’ll always be your friend.” 

Jon sighed. “I could never hate you, Martin, don’t be stupid.” He crossed a hand over his chest, gently took Martin’s, and lifted it away before dropping his own back to his side. “I just… it’s safer. Like this.” 

Martin chuckled nervously. “Ok, well, I’ll just let you, um. Get back to it, I suppose. 

Jon nodded. “See you at the coronation?”

“I’ll be there.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: canon-typical Jon self-blame and distancing, from Martin's perspective. Also Martin's mom's death is a minor detail.
> 
> Tim is the chapter MVP. I love protective Tim, sad he played any part in this. He doesn't get as mad at Jon in coming chapters as he does in canon, but he's still not thrilled with him.
> 
> Also writing this chapter was like, hmm, I could have done this the other way around with Martin as Elsa and correlated the ice powers with the Lonely? If someone ever does that please tell me, I'd love to read it.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s coronation day! Listen to this to set the mood, if you’d like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c1zlG69CMuQ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to the last chapter made my month! Seriously you’re all amazing. This is the first long fic and you’re all incredibly kind, encouraging, and engaging. Here’s a long chapter to celebrate, alternating POV as we go! Chapter count has gone down as this was originally meant to be two separate chapters but I liked the flow of putting it all on the table at once.
> 
> See end notes for mild content warnings.

Even Tim had stopped hugging Jon, once he’d seen how much it scared him. He did his best to put people off, since losing- no. Since giving Martin up, for his own good. The narrowed eyes, the flat tone, each dismissive wave. The gloves, a barrier and reminder in one, so that he might never corrupt another person with his curse. He hadn’t danced with either bride at Melanie and Georgie’s wedding, hadn’t hugged them when they arrived for his grandmother’s funeral and his coronation.

Jon’s hands hung limply at his sides as he made his way down the aisle of the cathedral. He knew the place probably looked and sounded beautiful, all candlelight and soft hymns, but he had a mind only for Elias’s warnings: don’t let them see who you are. Don’t display your monstrous nature before and threaten the peaceful transition of power. Don’t endanger your kingdom. Don’t hurt anyone else. 

He reached the alter and took his place in front of Elias and Melanie. Elias pressed in close to whisper in his ear. “The gloves, Jon.” With a sigh, he carefully tugged them off and placed them in his uncle’s hands. 

As Jon turned away to face the bishop and begin the ceremony, his gaze caught on Martin, standing at the far side of the alter. He looked radiant, so awash in the gentle glow around them it seemed to come from within him. Jon met his eyes and fell just a little more in love as Martin gave a soft, encouraging smile. To think there had been a time he’d dared to dream Martin would attend his coronation in an entirely different role. Some selfish part of him replayed that fantasy even now, librarian presenting a ceremonial book transmuted into a steady presence at his side. But it was dangerous to attach his hopes to a sunny, impossible fantasy where the secrecy was past them and they could be together. Where Jon could make his own choices without the fate of a kingdom in the balance. As sobering as those thoughts were, he still got lost, for just a moment, in Martin’s eyes.

Fortunately there was not much time to moon over Martin, not with the ceremony beginning. Jon managed his part, the oath to protect his people and honor their ways. Everything went smoothly, until it was time to sign the Register of Monarchs. 

Martin approached him and how could Jon have ever thought asking him to do this was a good idea? He was a breath away, holding the book open as Jon took up a pen with a gloveless hand. He only had to get his name down, connect hand to pen to book to Martin. Simple, except that the moment the pen made contact with the his hand, a thin veneer of ice began to slide down his hand and onto the pen. 

Jon froze. Martin was in danger at his hands again, separated from him by only ink and page. As his panic grew, the ice crept downward, a small patch flowing out where there ought to be ink. Martin looked back at him, all cautious encouragement, and fortunately did not look down.

Elias moved behind him, pressed the tips of his fingers sharply against Jon’s ribs and his lips tight to his ear. “You know what happens if he remembers. Come now, quickly.” His low voice, a threat scarcely concealed, returned Jon to action. He placed the pen against the paper, closed his eyes, willed the ink to flow instead of ice. He scrawled his signature as fast as he could manage, then pulled away. The ice withdrew with him and he breathed a sigh of relief. No one had noticed. Shaking with gratitude, he swapped Elias the pen for his gloves.

“King Jonathan of Arendelle!” announced the bishop, as Jon tugged his gloves back into position. A close call, but he’d made it through. 

* * *

“It was a weird moment,” Tim said as he handed Martin a flute of champagne.

“It- it wasn’t, not really,” Martin stammered. “He was just nervous about the whole _giant ceremony in front of the entire kingdom_ thing, not flustered because I was standing there holding a book.” 

Tim snorted. “No, I know Jon. The coronation made him nervous, he was shaking like a leaf during that procession, but that little panicked pause and blush when it was time to sign the book and make it official? That was all you, Martin.” 

“Sure, and I suppose you think I should just ask Jon to dance, and everything will be alright?”

“Maybe?” Tim looked over Martin’s shoulder. “Hey, Jon. Want to dance?” 

“With you? Never,” Jon said as he approached. 

The glass rattled in Martin’s hand. “J-Jon! Or, um, Your Majesty?” Why was he suddenly so nervous around him again, did it only take thirty seconds of close contact? “Only you don’t like, or maybe you just didn’t used to like, formal royal address, but I guess that’s different now, princes aren’t kings, um, and I don’t want to-”

Jon waved him off. “Jon is still fine, Martin.” He smiled just a bit, and Martin’s breath caught in his chest. “I wanted to thank you. For your part. In the coronation.”

“Could thank him with a dance,” Tim said, raising his eyebrows. “Maybe, I don’t know, apologize for ignoring him for a last two years?”

“Tim,” Jon said, with a hint of a scowl.

Tim slung an arm around Martin’s shoulders. “I’m just saying, both of our dance cards are open.” 

Martin took in Jon’s reddening face and clear discomfort. He wriggled out from under Tim and moved between them. “It’s fine, it’s fine, no harm done. Let’s just… try to enjoy the party?”

“Quite right,” said Jon with a nod. “If you’re so keen to dance, Tim, the MP for East Northuldra asked me earlier. I think she’d find you an acceptable substitute.”

“You turned down a dance with Sasha James?” Tim asked, scandalized. “Don’t worry, I’ll go apologize and uphold the capital’s honor.” He threw back his glass of champagne and hurried off. 

“Well, that should keep him occupied for a while,” Jon said dryly. He moved to stand next to Martin. “So. This is a party.” 

“Yeah, it’s, um. Louder, than I expected?”

“Well, you are a librarian.” They shared a laugh, and Martin’s heart soared. Jon cleared his throat, spoke softer, this time. “You look, ah, nice today. Martin.” 

His pulse quickened at the compliment, at Jon saying his name like _that_ , contrasting against the roar of the crowd around them. “Uh, you too, very, um. Regal.” 

Jon scoffed. “It’s too much fabric, itchy and hot. When I’m king I’ll-” he paused, and looked down at his clothing. “Right. Well, I suppose the first item on the agenda is ‘make changes to the royal dress code?’” 

It was exactly the kind of joke they’d once shared and Martin’s stomach swooped. “Hmm, I was thinking the first item should be library funding.”

“Of course, we’ll need to expand the selections on clothing design before we tackle the problem. Probably should add some bribe money for the night librarian too.” Jon, very gently, knocked his shoulder against Martin’s. “Seeing as he’s keeping the royal fashion reform hush-hush.” 

Martin groaned at the terrible joke and chanced a glance at Jon. He was smiling too, cheeks alight and eyes bright. It was almost like what they’d had before. “I’ll happily keep things under wraps.” He leaned his own shoulder, ever so slightly, against Jon’s. “You know, I’m pretty good with secrets?”

Jon abruptly pulled away. “Excuse me for a moment.” Martin moved to reach for him but before he could stop him, Jon was gone. 

He stared down into his champagne. “I didn’t even mean to bring it up,” he muttered to himself. He finished the glass, set it on a tray, and headed for the exit. 

* * *

The crowd collapsed around Martin as he drifted outside. He passed through the courtyard quickly, ignoring the banners and lanterns that had brought him so much excitement only a few hours ago. Just outside the castle gates, he arrived at the docks and sank down to rest against a pole. Salt, rocks, the old wood of the pier and the waiting ships. No hint of the pine forests and books he associated with Jon, a small blessing on an absolute mess of a day. He wished that the black wash of the evening tide could sweep him away. 

Martin’s thoughts lined up like soldiers on a field, trading volleys from competing narratives. Jon had come to him, vulnerable and afraid, and asked him to be part of his coronation. But he'd never come out and said why he'd wanted Martin there. Maybe he just wanted the familiarity without intention to change anything? Only he’d been so expressive, if just for a moment. The fond smile, the librarian jokes, standing so close… surely Martin couldn’t believe Jon hated him. 

That still didn’t mean Jon actually wanted him around. Or make it fair that he wouldn’t simply tell Martin what happened.

Martin picked up a smooth stone and skipped it out into the waves. Why did Jon push him away in the first place? His memory of their last night together was patchy, and he knew something magic had to be involved if Tim knew but couldn’t tell him. Martin closed his eyes and let his mind take him back. Nights in the library, trading cups of tea for facts about ocean currents and island oracles. Sharing a desk and eventually, a secret, though Martin couldn’t say what the secret was. Nights under the moonlit sky, so warm with Jon’s presence he could scarcely feel the cold. His fingers rose to graze his lips. They’d kissed, once, laughing against one another. What had gone so wrong?

A sudden chill swept in over the water. Martin pulled his frock coat tighter around himself. He’d have to decide soon whether to return to the party, maybe seek out Tim or the other librarians, or to just go home. Could he hold himself together, if he saw Jon again?

As he moved to stand he bumped into something solid. He startled backwards and realized it was a man, about Martin’s height and build but a good thirty years older. “Oh, excuse me!”

“Too many people in there and now I have to run into the one other person on the dock,” the man sighed. “What are you doing out here, too many rejected dance invitations?”

“Er. Something like that?”

The man leaned in closer. “I think I recognize you. You held the book at the coronation ceremony.”

“Yeah, I- I did.” Martin didn’t want to seem rude, so he stuck out a hand. “Martin Blackwood. I’m the night librarian.” 

The man glared at Martin’s offered hand and crossed his arms. “Peter Lukas, Captain of the Tundra of the Royal Arendelle Navy.” 

A chill ran down Martin’s spine. This was the captain Elias had used when he’d made Jon do… something. Martin didn’t know what, but knew it was something Jon hadn’t wanted to do. “Oh gosh, sorry.” He withdrew his hand. “Um. Captain, sir.”

Peter laughed. “Hmm. So polite.” Martin couldn’t place his tone, but didn’t think it was meant as a compliment. “Tell me, Martin Blackwood, have you ever thought about joining up?”

“I, erm. No?” Martin stammered. “It’s not that it isn’t admirable work, defending the kingdom and, ah, exploring. I just, um. I’m a librarian, I- I like books?” 

“Books...hmm. You know, we acquire plenty of those in our travels. There are all sorts of answers out there, information you won’t find staying home.” He rocked forward toward Martin with a subtle smile. “The royals are fond of their library, aren’t they? They might like us to bring someone along who could help with acquisitions.” 

Martin’s throat went dry. “Ac-acquisitions?” He could find rare books, bring them back to Jon. Whatever Jon had been searching for, those months they spent in the library together. It could be out there, just a ship’s journey away.

Peter shrugged. “We’re always bringing things back. A good portion of the royal collection came from abroad.”

“And you’d consider bringing someone along just to, what, tell you what to buy?”

Peter smiled at Martin. “Prince Elias doesn’t always agree with my taste and he is keen to fill in any gaps in the royal reference materials. Who would know the collection better than one of the castle’s own librarians?”

Martin looked out over the water and thought of Jon and the pain of staying here, watching from a distance. Would it hurt less, to have Jon completely out of reach? Might he find something out there that could help Jon with whatever he was hiding? It wasn’t like he had anything keeping him in Arendelle, with his mother dead and only Tim’s occasional company. “I suppose that does make sense.” 

Peter nodded. “It really does.” He gave Martin a thoughtful look. “If you’d like to volunteer, I think we could make arrangements. Leitner owes me a favor. And the Prince is an old friend.” 

* * *

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Jon could’ve just keep away from Martin but no, he had to get drawn to him every time they were in the same room with the same consequences. A bit of the old light, flooding Jon with comfort and curiosity. Having to be constantly on guard against the punishing desire to just tell Martin everything once again. 

And God was it difficult to hide at your own coronation. He couldn’t even catch a moment alone to breathe, let alone to think about a way to apologize to Martin without actually having to get near him. He considered leaving a note with Tim, but apparently pointing him in the direction of Sasha had been a grave mistake. Now there was no one to buffer Jon from the legions of well-wishing dignitaries and court officials, except Melanie and Georgie, and they were too busy on the dance floor to notice his distress. 

He was getting quite close indeed to finding Elias and begging him to allow him to cut the coronation ball short when a rush of cool outdoor air swept into the room. “Jon!” Martin called to him.

Against every rule of court and basic self-preservation, Jon went to him.

“Martin?” Jon could have swore he looked a bit seasick, if it weren’t for the solid wood of the ballroom floor beneath their feet. “Are you… alright?”

“Fine, fine.” Martin waved dismissively. “I just came to tell you that I’m, uh. Well, that I’m leaving?”

Martin’s soft, dark eyes met Jon’s and he wanted to touch him, so badly. He willed his hands steady at his side. “Oh, that’s fine, it’s, er, been a long evening. I was actually thinking about calling it a night myself, but that would take ending the party, and I’m not sure Tim would ever speak to me again if I cut it short.”

Martin’s lips pressed together in a slight grimace. “I don’t mean just for tonight. I mean I’m going. For a few months at least. Possibly longer.”

Jon’s stomach flipped. “A few months? Why?”

“There’s a Royal Navy mission. They want a librarian, and, well, I met Captain Lukas and he thought I’d be well suited so. I’m going?”

“No,” Jon said, slowly. “No that’s not right. You can’t leave.”

“Captain Lukas just cleared it with Leitner and he’s gone to talk to Prince Elias, so, I think it’s allowed? I just wanted to let you know, I guess we’re leaving in three days and I’ve got to get fitted for gear. I won’t be around, after tonight.” 

“No, I mean you _can't_ leave. And certainly not with- not with _Peter Lukas_.” How could Jon say it, say how much he needed Martin without drawing him in close enough to hurt him? “You’re my- I couldn’t- how else would I get books?” He felt himself begin to lose control, ice blossoming at his fingertips beneath the gloves.

Martin scoffed. “I don’t know why I even bothered to tell you. Of course it’s all about the books, not, not-” he sighed. “When Tim said you cared for me, I sort of believed him, you know? And then you said you were doing this for my safety.” He gave a humorless laugh. “But that was just a lie, to make me feel better. Poor, lonely Martin, believing you genuinely had a reason to shut me out. I’ve been a fool and what’s worse? My reason for going was to find books to help you. I thought maybe I could guess whatever it is you’ve been looking for, bring it back to you, and things would be like they used to be.” He stepped away, putting a distance between them Jon hated with every thread of his being. “But now? I think this is just something I need to do.” He turned toward the exit.

Jon reached for him and grasped his hand. “Martin, it’s not that I don’t- you can’t understand. It’s for your own good, I’m dangerous, I- I just can’t tell you.” 

Martin pulled his hand away, tugging Jon’s glove with him. Around them, people began to turn toward the altercation. Fortunately, Martin kept his tone low. “You say you’re dangerous, but you won’t tell me why or let me decide that for myself. What did I ever do, to lose your trust?” Jon’s eyes fixed on his glove, clutched in Martin’s white-knuckled fist. Jon’s own hands grew colder and colder. “I’ve spent these past two years going over every moment we spent together trying to figure out where I went wrong. Why you stopped speaking to me. Why you hide.” Martin looked nervously at the royal guards and stepped slowly away from Jon, continuing toward the door. “I really loved you,” he whispered. 

Martin loved him, or at least had once loved him. Jon was dizzy with the knowledge, even as his heart painfully reminded him that he couldn’t embrace the feeling. Martin had loved him back, and it couldn’t change anything. Ice crackled across his skin, and he needed to get outside, away from everyone, as fast as possible. “The party is over,” he announced, with a dismissive gesture. He pushed past Martin toward the door. Yes, this was his chance. If Martin loved him, if Martin would persist in trying to get closer or at the very least hover on the dangerous boarder of Jon’s life, then he would be safer at sea or anywhere else, far away from the monster Jon was becoming. Anywhere was better than here, just not with one of Elias’s allies. There’s no way he’d trust Peter Lukas not lose someone so precious. Jon pulled his cloak tight around himself and turned away. “You may leave. But not with Captain Lukas.” 

Behind him, he heard Martin take a step back. “At least Captain Lukas will acknowledge I exist. I’ll go with whoever I like. Because there’s nothing you can do about it, is there? Doesn’t matter that you’re king, you’re too afraid, too willing to do whatever Elias asks of you with no regard for-”

Jon spun around, letting go of his cloak. “ENOUGH!” As he turned, ice burst from his fingertips, creating a jagged, frozen wall between them. 

He clutched his gloveless hand to his chest and backed himself against the door.

“Jon,” Martin whispered. Jon’s gaze locked on the white streak in his hair, then dropped to meet Martin’s eyes and the recognition they plainly reflected. With a gasping breath, Jon fumbled for the door handle and ran out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: alcohol mentioned (no one drinks excessively). Jon also refers to himself as stupid.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
